A Death in the Family
by Sandiane Carter
Summary: Kate Beckett doesn't do family gatherings. Then again, her aunt Lily's never died before.
1. Unexpected Offer

**A/N: **There are two reasons to the existence of this story. One, I've always wondered whether Beckett has relatives other than her dad, and this is my attempt at picturing what it would be like if she had. And two, I've been meaning to write something that would take place after Countdown. This starts about ten days later. Expect a fairly slow pacing, and ten chapters at the most (though I actually don't have the ending in mind yet). This first chapter is quite long, but length probably won't be a constant. I just couldn't break this one into two parts.

It took me some time to find a title I liked for this... And after I did, I realized that there is actually a Castle episode wearing that name already (1x10, if you were wondering). I still kinda want to call the story that, because it fits. But if any of you have better suggestions, feel free to share them with me :). I hope you'll enjoy this!

**Disclaimer: Castle belongs to the wonderful Andrew Marlowe & Co.**

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><p>When Richard Castle walked into the bull pen that morning, he looked entirely too cheerful for Kate Beckett's taste – especially considering the soft but relentless rain she'd had to face when she had left her apartment, and the uniformly grey sky that only let a dim, gloomy sort of light into the precinct. The weather, in fact, matched her mood perfectly.<p>

But as she watched him make his way to her, stopping to exchange cheerful greetings with a young detective from Vice, the dark-haired detective couldn't suppress the small smile gracing her lips. There was something about the man that simply… lifted her spirits. She wasn't sure how exactly he managed that, but there was no question he did.

"Why, if it isn't my favorite detective," the writer exclaimed as he handed her a large cup of coffee, distracting her from her thoughts. "Good morning, Beckett," he added with a genuine smile that she found herself responding to.

She was about to thank him when he took her in. She was wearing a white blouse that she never wore at the precinct - the neckline was lower than what she usually allowed, and under a certain lighting, it was even a little see-through. She just hadn't had time to do her laundry, and had been feeling too down this morning to really care, but... she did care now. Castle wiggled his eyebrow appreciatively; torn between blushing and snapping at him, Kate narrowed her eyes and chose to remain silent.

"Looking good this morning, aren't we?"

"Don't I always?"

He grinned in appreciation of her comeback, but didn't stop there.

"Going on a date later?"

Beckett's green eyes met his before she could think better of it. It was hard to tell whether he was fishing for information, or showing interest like any good friend would. His acting skills were really a match for her own.

She briefly pondered her answer. She could lie and say 'yes'. He would assume she was meeting Josh, and hopefully stop this line of questioning.

"No," she replied, surprising herself.

A wide grin spread on Castle's face, and she winced inwardly.

"Am I to assume, then, that your dress efforts are directed at me?"

Kate rolled her eyes. Of course.

"Oh, Castle. Haven't I warned you about assuming things? Besides, it's not like I'm dressed up or whatever. Jeez, you make it sound like my usual clothes are terrible."

The writer immediately backpedaled, blabbering about how he had meant nothing of the sort and how she looked great no matter what she wore, and Beckett had to hold back a smile. She knew him well enough to steer the conversation away from his attempts at knowing what was going on with her personal life.

She had not yet decided how much she wanted to share with him on that particular subject.

Over the last week, she and Josh had done a good deal of talking. Kate didn't want to take Doctors without Borders away from her boyfriend – it was too much a part of who he was. But she also knew that she couldn't build a relationship with someone who was gone half the year. Not when her own job already consumed so much of her time.

Her mind drifted back to their last, and long, conversation.

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><p>"I'm ready to change, Kate. I'm ready to make an effort, to be as present as I can," the handsome surgeon had told her, dark eyes holding hers, confident yet pleading at the same time. "But I need you to meet me halfway."<p>

They were having breakfast in her apartment, sitting on opposite sides of the pine table, and it seemed to the dark-haired woman that the piece of furniture between them made for an allegory of everything that stood in their midst. Josh's tanned hand came to rest gently on hers and Kate's gaze lingered over the pretty contrast offered by their skin colors.

They looked good together. And they felt good, too. Things between them had been easy from the start – Josh was good-humored and uncomplicated (it also didn't hurt that he was fairly amazing in the bedroom department). Due to the demands of their jobs, they (or rather, _she_) had laid basic rules for their relationship – no complaining about cancelled dates, no possessiveness, and no heavy talk.

In their early days it worked brilliantly. Fun and light-hearted, their first months together had provided the distraction that Beckett so desperately needed. But as they grew more serious over time, Josh had started to overstep on their third rule, sharing more and more of his past, and his job at the hospital.

Kate let him, but she didn't reciprocate. Oh, she tried to. She did recount some anecdotes about life at the 12th precinct – Ryan and Jenny's engagement was one of them – but every time she tried to open up and tell him about her mother, the words would just fail her. She told herself that she didn't want to burden their relationship with her pain and her doubts. Castle was seldom mentioned as well (no other reason than self-preservation instinct was needed on that account).

As for the future, neither she nor Josh had ever felt bold enough to broach on the subject.

But here she was now, wondering what 'meeting him halfway' would entail, wondering how he pictured their life together – wondering if she really was ready to dive in with him.

"Josh, I just… How can you be so sure it'll work? You can't give up on Doctors without Borders missions. I know how much you want to help. And it's not like I can really take time away from my job. I can't do it part-time. It's just not how I work. We'll always be facing the same issues. What about kids? I mean, we never even talked about it. It just seems so unrealistic with our schedules –"

At this point she looked up at the dark-haired man, read the shock on his face and stopped in the middle of her sentence. Her words seemed to echo endlessly in her living-room as they stared silently at each other.

Was it too early to even mention it? He wanted serious, didn't he? This was as serious as she got.

"Do you want kids, Kate?" her boyfriend asked slowly.

The detective gaped at him. Oh. Apparently, this was a bigger issue than she had thought.

"I… don't know. Part of me does, yeah. I know that being a cop wouldn't make it easy, but-"

She paused, noticed the crestfallen expression on Josh's face, and found it hard to swallow. Yet her mom's joyful smile – the smile she had given her daughter every time she saw her – pushed Kate to go on, to force the words past her tight throat.

"I - I love children. So, yes, I would like some, one day."

"I never figured you for a kid person," he murmured, standing up and running a hand through his dark hair.

Cold dread slowly seeped into Beckett's bones as she mimicked his motion – she couldn't help feeling at a disadvantage if she remained seated. Taking a step forward, she met his eyes, but the question that burnt inside her couldn't seem to get past her lips.

For some absurd reason, the memory of Alexis and Castle playing laser tag together emerged, hitting her with unexpected force: and suddenly she knew that children weren't something she was ready to sacrifice.

How strange. Until this moment, she had never been so sure she wanted kids – but Josh's disbelief caused her to wonder whether she had sent him the wrong signal. They had never mentioned it, she realized; and the rare times when they got to spent time together outside their apartments, it was in restaurants and movie theaters. They had had little contact with tiny humans, if any at all.

Damn her, she thought, damn her for avoiding serious issues and keeping a foot out of the door.

She finally found her voice.

"Don't you want kids?"

He looked absolutely torn as he answered, hesitatingly at first.

"Not really, no. It's not that I don't love them – because I do. But like you said, I'm not sure I could give up on humanitarian trips. And my job matters so much to me. I always thought… I always thought it would be selfish to have kids if I wasn't sure I'd be able to put them first. Being a surgeon is who I am, Kate. I decided years ago that it mattered more than being a dad to me."

His eyes met hers pleadingly. His girlfriend stood absolutely still, disappointment and surprise and pain and anger twirling through her in a dizzying ballet. Kate mentally replayed his words, desperate for something to cling onto.

"So," she stated quietly, trying very hard to keep the anger at bay, "you don't want kids because you wouldn't be able to put them first. But it's okay to have a girlfriend even if she always comes second?"

"Kate," Josh said gently, "it's different. You're an adult. You chose to be with me, knowing who I was. And you can change your mind, walk out. I don't want that, but you have a choice. A child doesn't get a choice. He's stuck with you, no matter what."

That made sense, even though the detective wished hard that it didn't. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the real reason why her heart was throbbing painfully in her chest.

"You decided that years ago, you said. How do you know you won't change your mind?"

Her voice was a brave attempt at steady, despite the fact that she was fiercely blinking back the tears that were struggling to find an access to her cheeks.

Dark eyes looked at her with infinite longing and sadness and regret, and she knew what he would say before he even opened his mouth. Beckett felt the childish urge to put her hand over his lips, to stop the words from coming out. She had wanted to believe that she and Josh had a chance, that they could make things work. That they could be happy. But the bright and vivid mental picture she had constructed shattered with his next words. And maybe it had never been meant to be more than an illusion.

"I just know, Kate. I wish I didn't, but I do. Think you'll change yours?"

She bit her lip, hard, and closed her eyes. Unable to resist her obvious distress, the surgeon closed the space between them and wrapped her into an embrace.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered against her hair. "I should have talked about it before. I just assumed... Because of your job ... I can't believe I was so stupid. I wish I could lie and tell you I'll consider it, but you deserve more than that, Kate. You deserve the truth."

His deep voice soothed the dark-haired woman, shook her out of her stock-stillness. Kate slowly put her arms around Josh's waist, enjoying his familiar smell, his warmth – and knowing with absolute certainty that this was goodbye.

"This is not the only issue we have," he murmured, apology and sorrow mingling in his tone. He remembered the urgency in Rick Castle's voice when the writer had woken up after the freezer ("Where's Beckett?"); but maybe that wouldn't have mattered so much if Kate's first sluggish words to Josh when she had opened her eyes hadn't been, _Is Castle okay?_

The words he could account for - she had been stuck in a freezer with her partner, and thought they were going to die. The sheer terror in her voice, however, had left him wondering.

"No, it's not," Kate acknowledged with a sigh.

Josh backed away a little, cupping her cheek with his right hand. Leaning in, the surgeon kissed her lips lightly. Beckett gave a soft response – it tasted bittersweet. Some time passed before he spoke again.

"I guess we should end this, here, now. Before we both get our hearts broken."

She knew he was right, but the words wouldn't come. She nodded instead, and gathered enough courage to look him in the eye. He was smiling, albeit sadly, and Kate tried to mirror his expression. Josh took both her hands in his, and he squeezed gently.

"You are an amazing woman, Kate Beckett. I hope you find what you're looking for."

She wanted to find some memorable words, to make some sort of grand declaration, but the only thing that found its way out of her mouth was:

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He stared at her, determination lacing with affection on his handsome features. "I loved every minute I got to spend with you. That counts for something, Kate. I won't forget you."

Her cheeks were wet, some part of her brain registered, but it didn't matter so much now. She smiled at the man she had hoped to love; smiled with all her heart.

"You'll tell me when you leave?"

He wasn't really surprised that she knew him well enough to guess he would jump on the next mission, both because he would need something to take his mind off her, and because he was free to go. The thought pleased him, and yet his heart tightened.

"I will."

Then he had turned, and left without a backwards glance (she looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that he wasn't sure taking a last look at her wouldn't break his resolve, wouldn't bring him down to his knees in front of her, promising a swarm of things that he knew he wouldn't be able to keep).

Kate's green eyes, on the contrary, had remained fixed on the door for a long time after he had closed it – until her thoughts had quieted a little, until her body had stopped the imperceptible shaking that made her seat down – until she felt less pathetic, and more like herself.

And then she had left for work.

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><p>It had been five days. Kate had gotten a text the night before – Josh was about to board a plane to Japan. She'd told him to be careful, and wished him good luck. No one knew about her break-up. Not even Lanie.<p>

The detective wasn't sure how she felt about it herself. She was hurt, and disappointed. And she couldn't help thinking that she really, really sucked at this whole relationship thing._ She_ had screwed up. By refusing to talk seriously with Josh from the start. By not telling him about her mother. By not letting him in, and letting Castle back into her life (though, in truth, she couldn't bring herself to consider _that_ a mistake).

Kate Beckett wasn't okay with screwing up. She didn't like to admit failure, even to herself.

Her other reason for being silent about the state of affairs between Josh and herself was her fear that, the moment the news would be out, everyone – Lanie, the boys, maybe even Castle – would look at her expectantly, wondering how long it would take for her and the writer to get together.

Okay, Castle wouldn't. He had been so sweet lately; giving her space when she needed it, and even trying to control his staring (the results weren't very convincing, truth be told). But still – he would know she was single, and he would probably ask her out, in time. Was she ready for that? And what if he didn't ask her out at all?

So she had kept quiet.

And then Aunt Lily had died.

Kate had gotten the phone call early the morning before. It was her cousin Emily at the other end of the line. Emily had never been Beckett's favorite person, and the clipped, cold voice in which she had delivered the news had definitely not changed that. But the detective had been fond of Lily when she was young and naïve enough to ignore the complicated family policy that ruled the Fields household.

Her death was an unexpected blow, and it hit with unexpected strength.

Shaking her head, the dark-haired woman came back to the present moment, only to find Castle's curious glance surveying the bull pen. By the way his eyebrows arched slightly, Beckett could tell he was about to comment on something.

"Where's Ryan and Esposito?" Rick asked, clearly unsettled by the two detectives' absence. They usually got there before he did.

"Uh, they're helping Johnson out with her case. Seems like it's a pretty tough one, and Velasquez came down with the flu so, you know. She needed help."

Piercing blue eyes bore into her thoughtfully, and Beckett wondered briefly why she was withholding information from him. It wasn't like he wasn't going to find out anyway. And if he didn't, she would have to tell him at some point. True, Kate reflected amusedly, but it was fun to watch him try and figure it out.

"But they're your team, aren't they?" Castle asked tentatively, his eyebrows knit together. "What happens if _you_ get a body right now? Do Ryan and Esposito come running back to you and leave poor Johnson on her own?"

"First of all, if you had ever seen Johnson take down a suspect, you wouldn't be using the adjective 'poor' in relation to her. And second, well… I'm taking three days off, starting this afternoon. The Captain's just reassigned the boys for the time being."

The writer stared at her blankly. After a minute of silence, Beckett made a face at him, slightly worried. "Castle?" she started to say, but he held a hand out theatrically as if to silence her. He raised expectant, fearful eyes towards the ceiling, and the detective had to refrain from rolling hers.

"It doesn't seem like the end of the world is coming," he whispered in mock astonishment. "So, is this an alternate universe? Because there is _no way_ that I just heard Kate Beckett mention the words 'days off'. _Days_ in the plural; as in, several days. Not just one."

"I believe I've even mentioned the number three. I know it's a long way to count up to that, Castle, but I'd have thought Alexis would have taught you by now," Kate quipped, half-amused, half-irritated by his little act.

He smirked, then looked as if he wanted to ask a question but somewhat feared the answer. His partner arched her eyebrows, wordlessly inviting to go ahead.

"Did, uh, Doc – I mean, Josh" he corrected, "manage to convince you to jump on a plane to Haiti for a quick escape?"

"No, nothing that fancy," she quickly assured, once again omitting to tell him that Josh wouldn't be going anywhere with her in the near future. Or in any kind of future. "One of my aunts just died. I'm going to be driving upstate for the funeral, and I'm staying there for two days."

The writer's blue orbs filled with surprise and compassion.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know you had any close relatives other than your Dad."

Beckett parted her lips to explain – but really, it would have taken more time and more courage than she presently had to tell him how her mother was the second in a sisterhood of three, but that Johanna's independence had always irritated everyone in her family (first when she had decided to go to university, then when she had married Jim Beckett); that Kate's contacts with her mom's family had lessened over the years, and it had only gotten worse after Johanna's death. Her daughter couldn't stand the pity-filled looks she invariably attracted, nor could she stand the comments along the lines of "find a good husband and settle down – you saw what good being independent brought to your mother".

Instead she settled for, "Yeah, well. Now you do. We're not very close, though. They're my mom's family, but I don't get on very well with them."

Kate had no idea why she was even telling him this much. It wasn't like he needed to know that. But somehow, as Castle looked at her with mute understanding, she felt warmth tingle inside her. He gave her a kind, soft sort of smile that found its way straight to her heart.

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," she answered quietly, unsure what else to say. Her unwillingness to dwell on the subject drove her to say with an energy that she didn't feel, "At least I'll be rid of you for a little while. And you finally have a chance to get some more writing done. Because really, Castle, I don't enjoy having your ex-wife call me in the middle of the day just because you're too much of a coward to answer your own phone."

He winced at that.

"She did it again, didn't she? God, that woman's impossible."

Beckett chuckled.

"Coming from you, that's saying something."

He playfully narrowed his eyes, delighted to see her brighten up.

"I'll pretend not to know what you mean by that, detective," he said, feigning hurt.

Kate shook her head in amusement; her dark hair moved in a soft, silky rustle and it was everything Rick could do to keep himself from reaching for it. Clearing his mind with some effort, he asked more seriously, "Are you going alone?"

"Yes," she answered honestly.

She had called her dad to let him know, and he had offered to come. But she knew that it was only out of affection for her; Jim Beckett had never been welcome among his wife's family, and he had long ago stopped trying to get into their good graces. Kate, therefore, had declined.

"Why, Castle?" she asked, with a strained attempt at smiling, "Are you dying for an outing to the cemetery?"

Too many emotions crossed the writer's gaze for her to identify them all, but there was hesitation somewhere in there, and concern too. Usually, Beckett didn't like people to worry about her – she wasn't a weak little thing who needed protection. She could handle whatever was thrown at her, and she had proved that repeatedly.

But it was different with Castle. His concern didn't spring from his questioning her abilities (no one who had read the Nikki Heat books could ever accuse him of questioning her abilities, she thought with a smile) but from his affection for her. This much was obvious to her, and strangely it only made him endearing in her eyes - except, maybe, when he decided to sleep on her couch to protect her from a serial killer.

He didn't like to see her miserable; no more than she liked seeing him hurt. At some level, Kate was aware of this – but she was still utterly taken aback by the next thing he said.

"I could come with you, if you want."

There was a moment of silence.

The dark-haired detective gaped a little at the unexpected offer; and from the look on Castle's face, he himself hadn't quite planned what he was going to say. She was quicker to recover her balance, though, and proceeded to refuse as gently as she could (even if a small part of her was actually _tempted_ to accept, Kate realized with no small amount of shock).

"That's sweet, Castle, but I'll be fine. I don't need a babysitter. Besides, Alexis and Martha need you. I'm sure your daughter would rather have you here with her."

A small smile played on the writer's face, and Beckett felt a sense of dread. He knew something that she didn't.

"If Alexis is your only concern, you can brush it off. She's gone on a school trip to Washington – won't be back until Friday. As for my mother, she can very well do without me. Especially when she has her acting school to occupy herself with."

Well, there went her objections. Kate had some more ammunition, though.

"Don't you want to use the time to write? I thought you were behind with your next book?"

He simply shrugged.

"I'm always behind. And then I write ten chapters in a row and meet my deadline. I can't exactly command inspiration, you know. And I can take my laptop with me in case it strikes when we're there."

_We_. The small word gave his offer a new reality, and for a dizzying moment Kate imagined facing her family with Castle by her side; imagined having him to lean on and to make her laugh in the worse moments. Oh, tempting it was – but she could think of at least a dozen reasons why she should say no. For example, the fact that she wasn't quite sure where she wanted their relationship to go.

He must have sensed it, because he leaned forward, blue eyes earnest and pleading.

"Kate. If you want to be alone on this trip, that's fine. If you think you can do without my stunning wit and wonderful sense of humor" – she snorted lightly, which was sort of the point – "then say the words. But please don't say no out of pride, or because you think it wouldn't be proper."

The detective sunk her teeth into her lower lip, considering. He was serious about this. He hadn't even asked where exactly they would be going – he was just offering to be her back-up. Her partner. And the idea was a rather pleasing one.

"Unless you think it would upset Josh, of course," Rick added suddenly, as an afterthought. He sometimes felt guilty for forgetting so easily that Beckett already has someone to lean onto.

Kate tilted her head, unable to make her mind. He was serious. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. What point was there to his going to the funeral of someone he never even knew existed before now? Unless he cared for her. Unless he wanted to be there for her.

This was ridiculous. And dangerous. She had to say 'no'. _She had to._

"Josh doesn't have a say in the matter," she said absentmindedly. "And...okay. Yeah. You can come."

Castle expected her to say no. Since the very moment his lips had issued the offer without warning him first (though he didn't blame them for the initiative), he had been waiting for her to wiggle her way out of this. He had even given her an easy out.

But Kate Beckett was a woman full of surprises, no doubt.

Wonder and excitement rushed through his body, and he beamed at her like a little boy in front of a new, shiny bike. Beckett eyed him somewhat warily, and he tried to tone it down. The result must not have been very convincing, because his partner rolled her eyes and even laughed softly.

"Okay, Castle. Now, I've got to wrap up this paperwork before I leave. So go home, pack a bag, and meet me at my place around one?"

"You got it," he answered a little too enthusiastically, and he bounced up, grabbed his coat and turned to leave.

And then turned back to face her.

"Do you want to take my car?"

The offer took her by surprise when, in fact, she should have seen it coming. Putting down her pen again (he really made it impossible for her to get any work done), Kate sighed.

"Castle. You just invited yourself along, and now you want to invite your car, too?"

"Hey, I'm not saying you wouldn't be driving, because obviously you would. I have no doubt you'll issue several very impressive threats, give me that scary _I'm a cop_ look and force me to give up the wheel in no time. So really, you would only be doing a favor to those legs of mine, which suffer so badly whenever I ride shotgun with you."

He raised his eyebrows and made a cute pout, tilting his head in a way that reminded Kate of the puppy Will had tried to get her for her birthday once (after spending three nights crying at their door, the puppy had been duly returned to the store it came from). How was it that she was more sensitive to Castle than to that adorable puppy?

Probably thinking that she was taking too long to decide, Rick decided to defend his case. He bent his legs a little, trying very much to make them move like they had a life of their own (it looked to Beckett as if he was having a stroke of some kind), and said in a high-pitched voice:

"Please, Detective Beckett – we poor legs don't want to be cramped! It's so painful, you know?"

He didn't have to go any further. The dark-haired detective couldn't help a laugh when she realized what he was doing. Her brow furrowing, she looked at him, her expression a mixture between amusement and concern for his mental health.

"You know what, fine. But I'm telling you, Castle – the whole making your legs talk thing? Next time I might just have you committed to a mental facility."

The writer nodded good-humoredly.

"It was a one-time thing, anyway. Too good for an encore, you know."

He fled before she could quip back or rescind her agreement, only stopping at the door to exclaim "Pick you up at one"! That attracted everybody's attention and the detective suddenly found herself staring at the report in her hand with utter fascination.

That man. The way he had moved his legs played in her memory, and Kate bit her lip to keep herself from laughing again. He was _nuts_.

And just like that, the prospect of driving upstate to go to a funeral among people she hadn't seen in years became a little brighter.


	2. Road Trip

**A/N: **Thanks so much for all the reviews and story alerts - they all made me very happy. I don't think I have much to say about this chapter - it's shorter than the first, but it ends in a good place. And hopefully it means that next chapter will be ready faster. The place I'm mentioning, Whitesboro, actually exists - but I picked it randomly because of its size and location when looking at Googlemaps. So, although the name is real, all descriptions of the town will come from my imagination :). Hope you'll enjoy this!

**Disclaimer: Castle doesn't belong to me, but that's okay. (Or at least that's what I keep telling myself).  
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><p>Rick Castle waltzed into his loft, nearly tripping over the couch in the process – since when was the couch so close to the door, anyway? Surely his mother was responsible for that. Speak of the devil, Martha's voice resounded in his back, effectively bringing his contented humming to a halt.<p>

"What's got you in such a good mood so early in the morning, kiddo?"

"It's eleven already, Mother. I wouldn't call that early. How many drinks have you had, anyway?" he teased, as he caught sight of her, perched on a kitchen stool against the bar.

"Hilarious as always, Richard. For your information, note that I have given up early drinking – figured it would not reflect well on my acting school, you know. I'm not sure how well I'll manage to keep this resolution after I start interviewing teachers, though," she muttered under her breath, waving a discouraged hand at what Castle supposed to be résumés.

The writer's smile broadened, but it was genuine pride shining in his blue eyes. He was both impressed and humbled at how much of herself Martha Rodgers was investing in this acting school project.

"And do not for one minute think that you've talked your way out of this conversation," the object of his admiration added wryly without looking at him. "I still want to know what had you bouncing in here like the worst imitation of Bambi that the world has ever seen."

"Ouch, Mother, I –" Castle stopped for an instant, considering. "Actually, I'm not sure if I should be relieved or upset. Mmh. But, if you _must_ know –" he left the words hanging dramatically until Martha gave him a pointed look – "well, Detective Beckett and I are going on a road trip."

Martha Rodgers's many years of acting had given her great control over her facial expressions; and yet she couldn't help the glimmer of surprise that went through her eyes.

"Something to do with a case?" she inquired with well-painted nonchalance.

There was an infinitesimal second of hesitation before Rick answered, and worry tugged at the red-haired woman's heart.

"No, actually," he answered, purposely keeping his tone light. "One of her aunts died – don't ask, I had no idea she had relatives other than her dad – and she's going to the funeral, upstate. She was going on her own, so I offered to keep her company."

Castle was not sure he liked the complex web of emotions he could see reflected in his mother's clear eyes – disbelief in small doses, but also something deeper (he would have called it concern if he didn't know better) and a great deal of thoughtfulness. It was gone within moments, and Martha gave him a patronizing smile.

"Really, Richard. Can't you just leave the poor woman alone? She already has to bear with you every day at work. To be honest, I'm surprised your anatomy is still intact."

He shrugged, and grinned.

"She must really like me, then."

The writer turned and made for the stairs. Martha closed her eyes, willing herself to leave this alone and _not_ try and interfere with her son's life. But no, it wouldn't do. She could not forget the shadows in Richard's blue orbs, when he had joined her and Alexis in the Hamptons, the night after whatever disaster had been looming over New York City was averted. She could not forget what she had heard when passing his bedroom that night to go get a glass of water; the muffled, distressed sounds of "No, don't… Kate, please don't leave me". (That's when Martha had understood both that he was having a nightmare, and how close a call it had been – _again_).

"Kiddo!" she called out a little sharply.

Richard stilled, and she could see his shoulders tense before he faced her again.

"She really said you could come?"

"Yes she did," he answered immediately – defensively – and try as he might, he couldn't completely keep the triumph out of his voice.

The actress pursed her lips, staring knowingly at the man she had raised. She walked up to him, half because it would give her time to think over her next words, and half because she wanted to put a gentle hand on his shoulder – like she did when he was little and she tried to make him face an unpleasant truth.

"Oh, Richard," Martha sighed. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean."

His chin went up stubbornly, and his eyes lit up with defiance. Exactly as they had when he was nine and utterly convinced that the twenty-year-old lead actress of Martha's play was in love with him (the pretty little thing had made the mistake of putting a Disney band-aid on the knee Rick had injured when playing backstage).

"You know exactly what I mean," his mother shot back, nonplussed. "What on earth do you think you're doing, going with Kate Beckett to her aunt's funeral? That is _not_ your place. What about this boyfriend of hers, the handsome surgeon? Have they broken up?"

She waited for his answer pointedly, refusing to give way even when anger and hurt replaced the stubborn frown on her son's face. They stared at each other for a long time before Rick averted his gaze and grudgingly answered.

"Not that I know of."

(He was still uncertain about what Kate had meant when she said, "Josh doesn't have a say in the matter" and even though the words had rung delightfully in his ears, he knew for a fact that Martha would refuse to take them into account.)

"Then why is he not the one to go with her?"

"I don't know, _Mother_! Why don't you ask him?"

"Richard Alexander Rodgers, you will not yell at me. I'm simply trying to help. Can't you see that? I –" Martha ran a hand in her short hair, frustrated at him and at herself. "I don't want you getting hurt, that's all," she finished in a low voice.

The last remnants of anger deserted the writer as he acknowledged the doubt and worry in his mother's eyes for what they were. Tokens of affection. Taking a deep breath, he gently pulled her into an embrace, brushing his lips against her red hair, smiling when he felt her arms around him.

"I'm sorry. I appreciate your concern, Mother. I do."

Rick heard her snort against his chest, and he was glad to know the sarcastic side of her was back in control.

"But I'm going to handle this the way I want to," he went on, soft but firm. "For reasons I don't know of, Kate is going to this funeral on her own, and for reasons I can't even fathom, she has agreed to have me come along. So I'm going. If I can't be anything else, at least I get to be her friend. And she could use a friend right now."

Martha shook her head and sighed in defeat, but her son took a step back and gave her a warning look.

"And I don't want to hear another word about it," he stated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His mother assessed her chances of his changing his mind, recognized they were somewhere near zero, and gave in gracefully. Or at least, as gracefully as she knew how.

"Fine," she dropped, as if it was of no importance. "You can go on all the road-trips you want. But you won't come crying to me when your heart gets broken."

Rick chuckled and replied good-humouredly, "That was never my intention, Mother, I can assure you."

"And there will be no crashing my acting school either," the actress said, lifting her fine eyebrows and putting a hand in the air as if to stop his (hypothetical) protests. "You will not go anywhere near my pretty young actresses, or any attractive teachers I might happen to hire. You'll be _persona non grata_."

"Oh, what a terrible fate. All my hopes crushed at once," Rick said quietly while he walked the stairs up to his room.

"And I heard that!" Martha exclaimed from the kitchen island.

I hope you did, Castle thought with a smile. You were meant to.

* * *

><p>At one, Kate was standing outside her apartment building. The rain, thankfully, had decided to leave New York City alone, and the dark-haired woman was watching out for Castle's blue SUV ("Black is too common", he had answered nonchalantly the time she had commented on it).<p>

Of course, he had to be late.

Detective Beckett was _not_ nervous. Not at all. She was merely annoyed at her partner's delay. And she was slightly on edge at the perspective of meeting with her mom's family for the first time in… a long time. Over ten years, she thought, as her mind went back to that day when she closed the door to her grandparents' house for the last time. God, how was she going to introduce Castle to her family?

She wouldn't insult him by asking him to pose as her boyfriend, which would probably happen if they were the characters of some second-rate comedy. No, that would be childish, and silly. They'd be awkward. It was the last thing Kate wanted. She would just have to say he was her friend and partner, and endure the commiserating looks and ensuing comments ("poor dear, still single at 31 and unable to land this charming man").

Maybe bringing Castle was a bad idea, after all. She hadn't really thought ahead (something rather uncharacteristic for her, come to think of it); she had merely reacted to his friendly offer and to her own wish for company. In fact, it was rather selfish of her to bring the writer into the vipers' nest that was her mother's family.

Should she reconsider? Kate frowned, suddenly uncomfortable. The sight of a bright blue car pulling in front of her, however, saved her from making a decision. Her partner sprung out of the car like a jack out its box, a smile on his – admittedly – ruggedly handsome face.

"Sorry I'm late; there was this idiot in front of me who apparently didn't know the meaning of a green light."

"You sure that wasn't you, Castle?" Beckett teased out of habit.

"Oh, ha ha. You know, detective, it's easy to make fun of my driving when you've never given me a chance to prove you wrong," he remarked good-humouredly, while taking the bag she was holding and dropping it in the trunk. Then he took a closer look at said bag and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that really _everything_ you need for three days?"

"Mmh, yeah. What's the matter, Castle? Ashamed the enormous suitcase _you_ packed will give you away for the little girl you are?"

"No," he scoffed. "I was just thinking that if you gave packing lessons, I'd make sure my mother comes to a few of those."

Kate chuckled and the question she was about to ask ("Are you sure you want to come?) died on her lips as Rick presented her with the keys, blue eyes sparkling with affection. He exuded such comfort, such ease – as if they did this every month, going away for a few days together – that her heartbeat sped up a little. Staring at the mystery that was Richard Castle, she shook her head imperceptibly.

"You don't even know where we're going," the dark-haired woman stated quietly, half in wonder, half in annoyance.

Rick bobbed his head, incomprehension settling on his features.

"That's why I'm giving you the keys."

Could he really be that clueless, or was it an act?

It didn't matter, she found, as the emotion building inside her blossomed into a flower of warmth that spread from her heart to her toes. Kate couldn't do anything about the radiant smile that lit up her face, but she could – and did – snatch the keys from Castle's hand and sit inside the car before he had time to do anything else than grin back at her.

Allowing him to come may not have the best idea – and yet, among the various emotions that twirled inside Beckett as she turned on the ignition, regret was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p>The downside to her driving was that Castle's hands were free to fumble around. She swatted them once or twice, but since she was not planning on doing so for the whole ride, she ultimately gave up (she could have threatened him, which usually worked; but for some reason she refrained). In no time, the writer had his iPhone connected to the radio, and Kate winced, wondering what sort of music he was going to put on. Rick looked at her sideways with a smile, clearly expecting this sort of reaction. Changing ideas, he sat up without having selected a song. Beckett glanced at him quizzically.<p>

"There'll be plenty of time for music," he explained off-handedly. "I figured I'd mollify you first with the charms of my conversation."

He smiled brilliantly in response to the snort she gave and asked with an enthusiasm that made her want to kiss or kill him (it was always hard to tell which):

"So, are you planning on telling me what our mysterious destination is?"

There was something in his voice, besides curiosity, that the detective couldn't quite place. Was that _hope_? Kate stole a glance at the writer, and had to suppress a smile. Knitting her eyebrows, she asked slowly:

"Are you entertaining some sort of fantasy where there is in fact no real funeral and I'm simply kidnapping you for two days so that I can have my wicked way with you without anyone knowing?"

Richard grinned – she knew him well, no doubt – and shot back:

"Wouldn't you be disappointed in me if I weren't?"

The dark-haired woman let out a chuckle and shook her head in resignation. Addressing his original question, she replied, "We're going to a small town called Whitesboro. It's a five-hour drive from here, roughly."

"Oh. So I'd better make myself comfortable," Castle quipped, reclining his seat ostensibly.

"I had a feeling you'd be the type to doze off and leave me wanting for company," Kate taunted, her mouth curving into a sly smile.

"What?" he protested childishly. "That is _so_ not true."

He pointed a not-so-threatening finger at her, and declared, "I'll have you know, Ms. Beckett, that I am very good company. I know lots of games, an amazing number of lyrics, and I always have candy with me for emergency situations."

He proudly produced a bag of gummy bears to illustrate his statement, and Beckett had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing.

"In fact, if they held an election for best car-company of the year, I would certainly win hands down. You can ask Alexis."

The detective hummed thoughtfully in response.

"_Car-company_, Castle? Really? Aren't you supposed to have a way with words? "

"O, ye of little faith," he sighed dramatically. "You can sneer all you want, detective, but mark my words: by the end of this trip, you'll never want to go on a road trip without me again."

"If you say so," Beckett answered with a raise of her eyebrows, no longer bothering to hide her mirth.

Rick looked as if he was about to start flaunting his qualities again, but he visibly thought better of it and went back very naturally to his original line of questioning.

"And where are we staying?"

Dark hair flew as Kate turned to him, surprised, before her eyes quickly found the road again. _We_. Damn, she hadn't even thought of that. How could she _not_ have thought about it? She had been so concerned with seeing her family and finding ways to explain Castle's presence that she had not given a moment's thought to the technicalities.

"Uh, I booked a room at the local motel, the Whitesboro Inn. They – they have a dozen rooms, and they're always available, so we can just book another one for you when we get there."

Her brow furrowed and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, a little mad at herself for not taking into account the practical aspect. And there was no way in hell that the writer hadn't noticed her hesitation. _Wonderful._

Rick's blue eyes considered her for a moment, but he didn't comment.

"Fine with me," he said softly, and against all expectations, Beckett was annoyed by his lack of repartee. She was at fault, and that was not something that Richard Castle usually let go unnoticed. She didn't need him going all soft on her because her aunt was dead, or because he thought she would change her mind about his coming along.

Kate Beckett did not change her mind. Once she made a choice, she stuck by it. She was surprised he didn't know that by now; but she would remind him.

"Come on, Castle, say it. You know you want to."

"And whatever is it that I want to say, detective?'

She rolled her eyes. _Of course_ he would let her walk right into that one. Letting out an inaudible sigh, Kate braced herself for what was to come.

"That I didn't think of booking a room for you earlier because I'm unconsciously dying to share a bed with your ruggedly handsome self and ravish your body. Or something like that."

A wide grin made its appearance on the writer's face.

"_Ravish_, uh? And you were questioning _my_ writing skills?"

"Is my choice of words really what you want to comment upon here?" Kate asked disbelievingly before she could help herself.

"Was there something else to comment upon?"

She glanced his way to find amusement dancing in his blue eyes, and felt her own lips form a smile in response. He made no verbal answer, and a companionable silence took over. Kate wondered fleetingly if it was wrong for her to be enjoying their normal banter, considering her destination and the reason they were in this car in the first place. Then she resolutely banished the thought. There was nothing wrong with taking comfort when it was graciously handed to you, and her shadow turned partner turned best friend certainly knew how to do just that.


	3. Confidences

**N/A:** I'll run the risk of repeating myself and thank all of you who have read, reviewed, put this story on their favorites' list... It means a lot. This chapter was a bit delicate to deal with, and I'm still unsure about it being very in character as far as Kate is concerned. Nevertheless, I think it's as ready as it'll ever get, so... There you go. Hope you'll enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: Castle doesn't belong to me (and neither does the song "Can't Go Back Now", by the Weepies). I'm just having fun with them.**

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><p>The writer waited until they were an hour away from New York City to steer the conversation on a somewhat more personal topic than that of his deceased fish (by now, Kate knew everything that had ever happened to Moby and Dick, but also to Lois and Clark, whom Martha had forgotten to feed one time too many, and to Luke and Leia, who, being Alexis's fish, had died from old age). Beckett seemed relaxed, and he decided to take his chance – he had been dying to learn more about this newfound family of hers.<p>

"So… You want to tell me why I didn't know you had an aunt, let alone several?"

The detective bit back her original answer ("I only have one now") because it was much too pathetic for her taste.

"Can't let you learn everything about me, Castle," she quipped lightly instead. After a few seconds she added, "As I said before, I just don't get on very well with my mother's family."

His blue eyes stared into her, assessing and evaluating, and all at once Kate remembered how she had hated the feeling at first – this uncanny ability he had to see through all her carefully established defenses – when in fact she didn't mind so much, now. Instead she waited, curious to find out what his next approach would be.

"My dear detective, you realize that will not do. I need the whole story."

She didn't need to look at him to know he was grinning. Damn writers and their story appetites.

And yet the words pulled at Kate, picking and tugging gently at her heart, at her long-buried memories. The summer months in Whitesboro when her father was working, the thrill of finding out about her mother's childhood, the ice-cream shop in the main street (which had probably closed years ago), the throaty, beautiful voice of Johanna Beckett in the old microphone of Mark's bar, on karaoke nights.

She wanted to share, the detective realized, bewildered. Those memories wanted out. She shot a sideways glance at Castle, who was still looking at her expectantly. God, what was he _doing_ to her? Where was her need for privacy, her conviction that this story was nobody's business but her own?

"I'm not sure you realize what you'd be signing up for," Kate ended up saying, wondering if he could hear the truth of her statement under her playful tone.

She waited for a beat, two, and when it became obvious that he wouldn't respond, she bit lightly on her lower lip and elaborated.

"You see, this has all the makings of a Jane Austen novel, only without the happy ending."

Castle sat back in his seat, making himself comfortable (although the contrary would have been difficult in _this _car) and looking every bit like a kid getting ready for a Disney movie. Then his warm blue eyes found her – she could tell without so much as glancing his way – and he said in a soft, serious voice:

"I'm all ears."

She took a deep breath. There were so many threads and loose ends… So many ways to tell the story. Kate's mind went back as far as it could. Yes, she would start there, where she had no personal involvement. _Tell the story as if it wasn't yours._ And in some ways, it wasn't.

"Okay," she started slowly. "So, my grandfather was a middle-class, hard-working man, who lived in Whitesboro. He fell in love with Victoria Middleton, the pretty, educated, only daughter of the banker. Everyone in town was stunned when he proposed to her. And they were even more stunned when she agreed to marry him."

"The classic _love conquers all_ kind of tale?" Castle suggested with a smile, breaking his original resolution to keep silent while she spoke.

Beckett made a thoughtful little noise and the cute little wrinkle on her forehead that the writer had remarked upon, so long ago, appeared.

"I was never able to tell. My grandmother is – she's not exactly what you would call _affectionate_. She isn't mean, either, just…cold. And uptight. The 'find a good husband and raise your children as good Christians' type, you know?"

Rick nodded – he had met a lot of those during his years of private school.

"Anyway, uh… They had four daughters. Rose, Johanna, Lily, and Polly. Polly, who was their youngest, died when she was five. Reckless driver, out-of-control car, I never knew for sure which one it was; but Polly was on the wrong side of the sidewalk. She was killed on the spot."

Castle hissed in surprise and compassion, but he did not comment farther.

"After that my, uh, my grandfather was never the same. He retreated inside himself, let his daughters' education fall entirely on his wife. Or so my mom told me. He died before I was born, but not before my mom was off to law school. He was the one to encourage her to go – my grandmother was horrified."

A small smile played on Kate's lips before she grew serious again.

"I don't know if it was the idea of my mom going to university or living in the Big Apple that scared her the most. Or maybe she feared that her daughter would not be so marriageable afterwards. But my mom did go. Met my dad, decided she wanted to stay in New York City. I'm not sure my grandmother ever forgave her for it."

The traffic stream had slowed down due to the increasing number of vehicles around them, and the detective focused on the road for a moment, passing several trucks so that they could get a clear view again.

"It used to make me angry, but now it just makes me sad," she reflected after a moment, following her trail of thought. "She – and Rose, too – seemed to believe that my mother thought she was above them, above Whitesboro; and that was the reason she had left. But that was _so_ not the case, Castle. If it was, why would my mom have taken me back there for two weeks, every summer? Why would we have stayed in my grandmother's house every time?"

Beckett bit her lip hard and shook her head, willing the emotion back. Clearly, time had not healed the wounds. The confusion and anger and incomprehension were the exact same as they were when she was nineteen, except that she knew better now than to let it overpower her. She forced herself to relax, exhaling slowly, and almost jumped when a gentle hand brushed against her cheek, pushing a strand of hair back.

Castle. She shot a surprised glance at him, and he gave her a sheepish smile, as if he didn't quite know how his fingers had ended up there. Her green eyes softened, letting him know that she wasn't mad, and the writer felt a sudden rush of warmth, somewhere in his chest.

His mother's words resounded in his ears, and for the first time Rick wondered if she might have been right. If maybe, he was exposing himself a little too much by accompanying Beckett on this trip. _Not your place, Richard. _The memory of Doctor Motorcycle Boy showing up at the precinct after the bomb-that-hadn't-gone-off played before his eyes.

Kate's mind must have been in a similar place – it wouldn't have been the first time – because she sucked in a quick breath and said quietly, "Josh and I broke up."

It was time he knew; it was _right_ for him to know. This overshadowed any awkwardness that the detective could feel (but damn it, Lanie was going to _kill_ her for telling Castle first, not to mention the fact that Beckett had carefully avoided telling her friend that the writer would be accompanying her upstate. Yeah. Maybe staying away from the morgue when she came back would be preferable, at least for a little while).

The writer's reaction was complete and utter silence, so much that she had to look at him to find out what he was feeling. Blue eyes were staring at her, full of questions and shock and – well, she didn't want to be presumptuous, but it did seem like hope.

"Five days ago," she said curtly, answering his wordless enquiries. "Turns out there were some…irresolvable differences between us."

"I'm sorry," Castle said when he had erased any satisfaction he might have felt, any lingering spark of happiness, and made sure he truly meant the words. And he did. Kate's happiness was what mattered, first and foremost. Even though he wished he could be instrumental in it.

She heard the sincerity in his voice, and the corners of her mouth went up a little. She shrugged, but there was a tiny, well-hidden hint of hurt in her otherwise steady voice.

"He didn't want children."

A few seconds went by as understanding flashed across Castle's face.

"And you do."

It wasn't a question. Kate refrained from looking at him, because the guy in the Porsche following them drove like he remembered very little about the rules of the road, but it didn't keep her from noticing.

"You don't seem surprised."

_Unlike Josh_, her mind supplied. Rick watched her, unable to suppress the smile on his face.

"Are you forgetting about the Candela case we worked with your square-jawed ex-boyfriend? Anyone who has seen you with Angela could hardly doubt how much you love children."

His eyes got a little dreamy as he relived the moment when they had found the little girl, and he added, "You were adorable. It would be such a shame if you didn't get to be a mom one day."

Oh, great. Was he trying to make her blush, or what? Her hands tightened on the wheel as she tried to fight the implications of what he was saying. Did _he _want more children? He seemed happy enough with Alexis. And _why the hell_ was she even thinking that? Wow. She backpedaled hastily. You're not going there, Katie.

"I need coffee," she said lightly, trying to break the serious mood. "What do you say to a pit stop?"

"I say, lead the way, detective. I'm buying."

* * *

><p>The shop was small, but there were a few tables in a corner for those who wished to sit down while enjoying a coffee that, according to Castle, tasted like dogs had peed in battery acid (Kate wondered for a moment if dogs were supposed to be an upgrade as opposed to monkeys. She couldn't quite tell). In fact, after stealing a sip at hers – and earning a well-deserve slap on his arm – the writer settled for tea, which spoke for itself.<p>

The tables looked a little unsteady on their feet, but at least they were clean. There were picnic tables outside, but the sky was even greyer now than it had been in the morning, and the wind did not make for a comfortable companion.

Beckett sat down, and Castle mirrored her move; but his chair gave a pathetic squeak as soon as he started putting weight on it, and he jumped back on his feet, causing his partner to laugh. Mumbling things about lame equipment (while secretly proud that he had been, even unwillingly, cause for Kate's mirth), he switched it with another table's stool.

They stayed silent for a bit, each lost in their own train of thoughts, before Rick remembered that their conversation in the car had been sidetracked by the news about Josh. He hesitated to remind the detective – but from the look in her eyes, the place she was at right now couldn't be worse than the one he wanted her to go back to.

"Hey, you never finished that story about your mom moving to the City."

Kate's attention snapped back to him, and she looked slightly surprised.

"Right," she owned. She licked her lips, suddenly very aware of everything she had told him already. It had been easier when she was driving – a good part of her attention was on the road, and she wasn't filtering the information with her usual amount of care.

She did not regret it. But it didn't mean she could easily start again where she had stopped.

"You were telling me how her family thought that she wanted to leave because she believed she was above them all," Castle said quietly, encouragingly. He wasn't sure about what he was doing; he just knew that she had started opening up for him, and he hoped with all his heart that it wasn't a one-time thing only.

Kate met his blue eyes and almost smiled. Maybe she was wrong, she thought. Maybe being in the car and having her attention on the road had nothing to do with it. Maybe it had just been Richard Castle's magic working all along.

"My mom loved Whitesboro," she found herself saying, words flowing from her lips more easily than ever before. "It's just – it wasn't _enough_ for her. She had such an appetite for life, Castle; she always wanted more, she always…wanted to dig deeper. She wanted to make a difference. To help people. But that wouldn't have happened if she had stayed in Whitesboro. I don't know why they couldn't see that."

"Some people just see what they want to see, and not what's in front of them," the writer offered quietly.

This was also the conclusion she had come to, even if she didn't find it satisfying. She hummed softly, stirring her coffee absentmindedly.

"When was the last time you went back?" Castle asked curiously, trying to establish a mental timeline. Sometimes he forgot that life wasn't one of his novels, and he would treat it like one – labeling facts and building characters as if he was working on a very complex plot.

Kate did not answer immediately, but something in her stance kept him from asking the question again. The detective chewed on her lower lip, wondering if he would think poorly of her, were she to tell the truth. On the other hand, she had told him so much already that it wouldn't make much sense to stop now.

"Almost twelve years ago," she said at last. She could feel his surprise, and went on. "The summer after my mom died… My dad encouraged me to go to Whitesboro, said it would "do me good" to see a place associated with happy memories." What she didn't say was that her dad's main goal, as she had understood afterwards, had probably been to get her out of the way so he could drink himself into oblivion without having to hide.

"A whole lotta good it did me," the dark-haired woman muttered. "There was much crying, and even more fighting, involved, and my grandmother and I ended up saying pretty awful things to one another. I left, never went back."

Castle had half a mind to ask what those awful things were, but then he saw the tense line of Beckett's jaw and instantly forgot about it. Instead, he lightly rested his hand over hers on the table. She had long fingers, and strong hands, but his were still much larger.

Kate stiffened at the contact. The writer held his breath. Her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the table, but after a minute the tension in her shoulders eased away and she flipped her hand gently, closing her fingers onto Rick's.

He was perfectly aware of just how much she was giving him by this simple gesture. How much she was fighting her private nature, her instinctive reserve, by allowing him this close. Rick did the only thing he could think of – he gave back.

"So what, you're going to see the family you haven't met with in the last twelve years. No big deal. I'm not impressed. See, on the other hand, if _I _found out who my mysterious father is and went to meet him – now, that would serious stuff. Especially if he was, I don't know, a secret agent or a foreign President or – ooh, a drug lord!" He broke off excitedly, grinning like a nine-year-old. Then he wiggled an eyebrow in challenge. "But compared to that, your little family reunion? Piece of cake, really. You'll have to do better than that to bring tears to my eye, Beckett," he finished nonchalantly, leaning back (and almost losing his balance as he remembered he was sitting on a stool instead of a chair).

Kate gaped a little, her eyebrows knitting as she stared at him in disbelief. In a matter of seconds, her expression went from slightly indignant to amused to mischievous as she listened to his rant.

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint, Castle. I'm a little off my game, but if I find a heavier idea than a loaded family gathering, I'll be sure to let you know."

"You do that, detective," he grinned.

"And by the way, your dad? Probably just a little accountant in a quiet town," she dropped as she stood up, walking away without a second glance.

"That was _mean_, Beckett!" he whined in her back, and the detective smiled, knowing he couldn't see her face.

Castle quickly got to his feet to follow her, spilled the rest of his tea in his haste, and – too late – reached for the napkin. Groaning, he considered the mess in front of him, and looked back to his partner who was walking though the door. Damn it.

He caught the eye of the waitress, mouthed "sorry about this", and ran after Beckett with the plastic cups and the soaked napkins in his hands.

"Kate, will you just – wait for me? Kate!"

* * *

><p>Despite his earlier assurances, Castle was sound asleep in the passenger seat when they got off the I-90 for the last couple miles that separated them from Whitesboro. Kate didn't blame him – the road was monotonous at best, and the conversation had lapsed into a companionable silence after the writer had told her the last news about the Martha Rodgers School of Acting, in a rather obvious attempt to distract her (which had, to be honest, worked fairly well).<p>

A light snore rose from the writer, triggering a smile on Beckett's part. He was a rather silent sleeper (which was strange, considering how talkative he was when awake; but then again, it seemed to establish a balance of some kind that pleased the detective). And he wasn't drooling either. _No fun, Castle_, she thought playfully.

The traffic was moving rather slowly ("accident a mile ahead," a sign warned, some ten feet away) and Kate reached for the iPhone that lay, forgotten, between her and her partner. Making sure the sound was low enough not to disturb Castle, she selected the shuffle mode with a few strokes of her thumb and waited.

She was not _expecting_ anything (she tried not to whenever the writer was involved) but she was still pleasantly surprised by the soft, relaxing guitar notes that struck a chord deep within her. Beckett listened to the lyrics carefully, as she did almost everything. _I can't really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else_, the singer said, _but in the end the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself_.

When the road in front of them cleared, she had listened to the song enough times to know the lyrics, and she stepped on the gas, enjoying the sense of security brought by the music and the even breathing of the man who was sleeping next to her.


	4. An Evening in Whitesboro

**A/N:** So, this might be my fastest update ever. See what happens when you guys leave me such wonderful reviews? :) On the other hand, I would advise you not to get used to it, or you might be disappointed. And it's a long chapter, too! Those who have read "Of Weddings and Technicalities" before are used, I believe, to the slow pacing of my stories. They just turn out that way - I don't seem to be able to help it. So, I'm hoping you won't mind, and enjoy the present chapter!

**Disclaimer: The show _Castle_ and all its wonderful characters belong to Andrew Marlowe. May the Force be with him.**

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><p>It was about five thirty when Kate finally pulled over close to the Whitesboro Inn, and turned off the ignition with relief. She leaned back in her seat, letting herself have a moment to relax before she reached to her partner's sleeping form.<p>

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, we're there," she said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"Shouldn't I get a kiss or something?" Castle mumbled back, his eyes still closed.

Beckett snorted, and the twinge of guilt she had felt for waking him disappeared.

"Jeez, and here I thought I was being nice, not calling you _Sleepy the Dwarf_."

Opening her door, she unfolded her long legs with untainted pleasure, even though the cold wind caused the writer behind her to protest. Kate took a few steps outside, looking around. Whitesboro hadn't much changed in the last ten years – the coffee shop, the florist and the hairdresser were exactly at the same place, and the only novelty consisted of a music shop that she didn't remember seeing before. The main street, however, still looked uniformly grey and dull.

"I'm not sure whether to be impressed or scared that you know the names of the dwarves in _Snow White_," Castle commented on a conversational tone from somewhere behind her.

"Oh, please, Castle," the detective replied with a smile, turning to him. "I'm sure you do too. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that you learned them all by heart at say, sixteen, just so you could show off your knowledge if anyone ever asked you, "Name the seven dwarves in _Snow White_". That's the sort of thing you do, isn't it?"

She raised her eyebrows inquisitively. He gave her his devilish grin, waggling his eyebrow.

"What are you willing to bet in order to find out?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Would I be able to live without knowing if you're able to name all of Snow White's dwarves?" Kate pressed her lips together, pretending to give the question serious consideration. Ultimately she smiled brilliantly at the writer, got a little closer than was appropriate, and stage-whispered, "Yeah, I think I would."

Rick pouted like a child who's been denied a much-wanted toy. But, like a child, he was also quick in switching his focus. Studying his surroundings with a keen interest, he asked, "So, this is where your mom grew up, uh?"

"Yep," Beckett answered, unsure what else to say. "This is Whitesboro."

"It looks…nice," Castle offered, and try as she may, the dark-haired detective could not decide whether he was being sincere or ironic.

"Aren't you going for the whole gentleman act?" she asked teasingly, in an effort to change the subject and push back the memories that filled her mind.

He looked a little lost as to her meaning, and she gracefully provided him with an explanation.

"Shouldn't you be unloading our luggage or something?"

Kate fought back a smile as understanding lit up his eyes.

"Oh, right," Castle said to himself, and he moved swiftly towards the trunk. He was being unexpectedly helpful, and Beckett – who only meant to make fun of him – followed him quietly, not sure how to deal with this diligent version of the writer.

"It was a joke, Castle. I can take care of my own bag," she said, trying to interfere as he put the strap over his shoulder. He swatted lightly the hand that had ventured on the handle of his small suitcase, exclaiming good-humouredly:

"No, you're right. I'm the man. I'm carrying the luggage."

The detective looked at him with an arched eyebrow, opened her mouth to object and then changed her mind.

"Fine", she answered with a smirk. "But when you're old and complaining about back pains, don't come crying to me, Mr. _I'm The Man_."

And she left him there to determine whether he should take offense at her words, or simply be delighted that she seemed to be planning on sticking around until he was old (in a very, very, _very_ long time). Delight won over, unsurprisingly, and Castle followed his partner to the Whitesboro Inn with a silly grin plastered on his face, the bags on his arms seemingly weighing nothing at all.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, M'am. But the town's hosting the annual Fishermen's Convention this week, and we're all booked. The room you have was the last available one. I can call one of the hotels in Rome, if you wish. I'm sure they'll have plenty of space."<p>

The round-faced, freckled young man at the desk was looking at her apologetically, and Beckett closed her eyes for a moment. She felt like laughing and she didn't want to upset the receptionist. She was one lucky girl, wasn't she? For once in her life, she had taken a chance, had accepted Castle's offer to tag along – and now it was coming back to bite her in the ass. They'd have to share a room (and maybe a bed, since she doubted the rooms here had couches). Or they could go to Rome and find another hotel.

Kate bit her lip thoughtfully. After the five-hour drive, she didn't have the slightest wish to get back in the car, even if it was Castle's fancy and spacious SUV. She just wanted to relax, and eat. And shower. Oh god, yes, shower.

Besides, they were responsible adults (or at least, she was). It was only two nights. They could share a bed. The writer would probably have no objections; and in fact Kate trusted him to be a gentleman (though she would have denied it if asked).

Where _was _he, anyway? Last time she had checked he was following her; he should have been by her side about two minutes ago. Leave it to that man to lose his way in a street that held ten shops, max, she thought wearily.

"No, thanks, it'll be fine. We'll manage with this one," the detective answered with a smile, turning back to the clerk. She quickly filled the information sheet that he handed her, and signed at the bottom at the exact second that Castle chose to make an entrance.

"What were you doing?" she asked curiously.

"There was this woman outside who dropped her shopping bags just when I was passing by, so I helped her gather her things, that's all," the writer explained quickly while putting their luggage down, and smiling at the young man who stepped forward to carry them.

Kate looked at him a little disbelievingly. Richard Castle the good-doer. Of course.

"Why are you mad?" he whispered a minute later, in the elevator.

"I'm not mad," Beckett said immediately. _Nervous_ would have been more like it, but she was not exactly eager for him to figure it out.

The writer shot her an inquisitive look, but kept silent. Well, she had to tell him, didn't she?

"Seems like a dream of yours is about to come true, Castle."

Even to Kate's ears, her voice was a little strained. But an excited expression took over Rick's face as he eagerly pressed:

"Please tell me we're going to meet aliens and negotiate the world's fate with them."

She gave him a pointed look.

"No we're not, because aliens don't _exist_," she answered, uttering slowly and clearly as she would for a five-year-old.

"So you think, detective, so you think," he smirked, giving her this I-know-better-than-you look that he had perfected over the years. Kate rolled her eyes, and tried to remember what her point was. God, that man's potential for distraction was simply endless.

"Oh, I know! This is all a cover for a CIA mission that you've been entrusted with!"

Beckett arched an eyebrow, biting back a smile.

"And in the unlikely event that the CIA would need my help on anything, why exactly would I be bringing you with me?"

He gaped, first in surprise and then in offense.

"Why, do you doubt my helpfulness, Beckett? Obviously they've heard of our great and _successful_ partnership, and they've decided that we're the only ones who can achieve the perilous yet essential task of –"

"Fixing their coffee machine?" Kate offered innocently. "No, wait, that couldn't be it. You weren't able to fix the one at the precinct last week. Had to call _Esposito_ to your rescue, didn't you?"

Blue eyes narrowed at her in response.

"Fine. Not the CIA. Then, maybe…" he started in a seductive tone that had Beckett locking doors and barring windows in a matter of seconds, "maybe it's the dream where you cuff me to the bed before divesting me of my cloth–"

"Castle."

It was said in a sharp, neutral voice, with a hint of warning in it, and she didn't even bother to look at him. The writer grinned.

"Yeah, I should have guessed it wasn't that one," he muttered.

The hotel employee, who was trying hard not to look amused by their back-and-forth (and failing), stopped in front of the door bearing the number twelve and unlocked the door.

"Here's your room, Ms. Beckett, Mr. Castle."

_Room_, in the singular? The writer's gaze met Kate's interrogatively. She smirked.

"That's the dream I was talking about," she said in a low voice. "Hope you're not too disappointed."

She stepped inside the room without waiting for an answer. Castle tipped off the young man – Bill – and turned to the door. He had a moment of hesitation. Was Beckett really okay with sharing a room with him? He could only guess that the hotel was fully booked, but there were probably alternatives in the closest towns. If Kate had made her choice, though – and it seemed like she had – he would only annoy her by suggesting different. _Okay_, he thought, _okay._ He was here as her friend. He would act as such.

"You know, detective," he said rather loudly while closing the door behind him, "as long as I get to see you in your jammies, I can't be disappoint–"

He was interrupted by the friendly, soft and welcoming throw of a pillow to his face. _Nice to know you like me too, Beckett_.

* * *

><p>Kate lost no time in claiming the shower, and the writer wandered aimlessly about the room for a little while. He sat on the bed, turned on the TV. Turned off the TV.<p>

The sound of the water running made it hard for Castle to think about anything else than Kate Beckett's naked and no doubt very alluring body glistening under the spray, and in a desperate attempt to distract himself, he slipped out to call his daughter.

Alexis's sweet voice answered on the second ring, effectively driving inappropriate thoughts away from his mind.

"Hey, Dad! Everything alright?"

"Am I not allowed to call my darling daughter if nothing bad has happened?"

Rick could hear the smile in her next words, and he was blissfully unaware of the responsive silly grin that split his face in two.

"Well, I don't know. Depends if your darling daughter gave you specific rules and hours about calling her while she's on her school trip."

"Mmh. I recall no such rules," he declared happily, and Alexis's laugh rang prettily on the other end.

"Of course you wouldn't. Well, since you called, we might as well do this now. Just try to keep it short, Dad; Paige is never going to find the next clue without me."

"Treasure hunt?"

"As if. _Educational_ Clue. Believe me, not nearly as much fun. So, how are things back home?"

"Uh…"

He had not actually thought through what he would tell Alexis, and his daughter was used by now to interpret his silences as indicating some sort of potentially dangerous situation. With the ease of experience, she quickly identified the part of her question that mattered (his earlier joking allowed her to put aside her immediate concern for her grandmother or any of their close friends).

"Dad, where _are _you?"

Castle smiled to realize how well she knew him (the tone of her voice, somewhere between worried and accusatory, was another cause for mirth).

"Upstate New York. In a hole called Whitesboro – but don't ever tell Beckett I said that."

"Detective Beckett? Why? Are you with her?"

Now she didn't sound half as concerned – hopeful, rather.

"Yeah. Don't get any ideas, though. Long story short, I found out that Beckett has family on her mother's side because one of her aunts died two days ago – that's awful, I'll give it to you – and she was going to the funeral alone, an idea that I found utterly depressing, so I offered to go with her."

That was a rather brilliant summary, if he thought so himself. It was, however, met with silence on his daughter's part.

"Pumpkin?"

"And she let you?"

He didn't know whether to feel amused or insulted at the obvious surprise felt by his offspring.

"She did. I'm not sure what got into her either, if it makes you feel better."

"No, I…" Alexis paused, clearly trying to find the right words. "It's a good thing, I guess."

"Right?"

(Maybe he should try to sound a little less enthusiastic. Just a tiny bit.)

"Well, if she's okay with you coming… You did the right thing by asking her, Dad. I'm sure nobody likes to go to a funeral on their own. I know I wouldn't," she reflected with a shiver.

Castle smiled proudly (his daughter was the most intelligent, compassionate, sensible – hell, the most perfect human being on this planet).

"I'm glad you think so, Alexis."

"Just – you know, don't scare her away, okay? Be your nice normal self. Not your creepy self. Or the annoying one."

"Do I have a nice normal self?"

"I know it's in there somewhere. Now might be the time to find it. For Detective Beckett's sake."

He chuckled, and let out a small, satisfied sigh. Talking to his daughter always had this effect on him.

"How is your trip going along?"

"Oh, fine. You know, the usual – teacher's a little scared that we're going to run off at the first occasion, kids are more eager to find out about the secret passageways in the White House than about the Museum of Natural History. School trip. _Fun._"

Rick could picture Alexis raising her eyebrows in that fashion that reminded him of Beckett. He knew his cue, and he took it.

"Are there secret passageways in the White House?"

"Dad," she protested laughingly. A voice spoke in the background, and she made a quick answer before telling her father, "Okay, I've gotta go. Call me tomorrow night?"

"Will do. And, Alexis?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to enjoy yourself a little, you know," he teased with a smile. "For your old man's sake."

"I'll see what I can do," she answered gaily. "Bye, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too, Pumpkin," he said, and he ended the call, smiling to himself. Since staring at his phone would not in any way contribute to have his daughter materialize in front of him, he put it in his back pocket and turned…to find Kate Beckett standing in the door frame.

"That was quick," he observed, hoping she hadn't noticed his slight jump of surprise.

From the smirk on her face, she had. She said nothing, however, and Rick let his eyes do a quick survey.

"You didn't change," he said, a little disappointed.

"What, Castle, did you expect me to dress up for you? You should have said so," she breathed seductively.

"Would you have?" he gasped.

"No," she replied in her everyday voice, laughing at his crestfallen expression. "You're still such an easy mark."

Rick pouted, and then remembered what he had initially wanted to ask.

"Hey, what are our plans for tonight? Are we meeting up with your family or something?"

He was excited, she could tell, in spite of his efforts to camouflage it.

"No. Trust me, Castle, you'll see enough of them tomorrow. I was thinking of heading out for dinner, if that's okay with you?"

There was more uncertainty in Beckett's voice than the writer was used to, and he didn't lose a second assuring her that yes, of course it was. He grabbed his jacket inside, and Kate locked the door after them.

"Where are you taking us?" he asked as they got to the elevator.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said mysteriously.

"Seriously? You're not going to tell me?"

"It's like a ten-minute walk from here, Castle. Even you should be able to handle the suspense."

"What if I can't?"

The man definitely had a flair for the dramatic; he rested a hand on his heart and started breathing heavily, mouthing "heart attack" in case she didn't get the picture.

"Then I'm not sure there's anything I can do for you," she shot back with a pointed look.

The writer studied her face, realized she wouldn't change his mind and dropped the act.

"Fine," he shrugged. "Be that way. But you won't get to hear what Alexis's phone call was all about."

Beckett snorted. "I think it's a safe bet to say _you_ called _her_. If she is on a school trip, I'm sure she has better things to do than calling her father at six pm on her first day."

"Better things to do? What is that supposed to mean? What better things could she possibly have to do?"

Kate stared at the face of his denial and smiled.

"If you don't know, Castle, don't expect me to tell you."

"You're evil, Beckett."

"So I've been told."

* * *

><p>"So, I'm not absolutely sure that the bar still exists," the detective said ten minutes later, as they turned into a narrower street. Her partner thought he could make out a hint of nervousness in her voice.<p>

Music notes – jazz, Castle noted with pleasure – reached their ears. The small smile on Kate's face confirmed what he had guessed; clearly the bar she was taking them to was still up and running.

They were at the door before Beckett had really had time to prepare herself. But she didn't need to, she thought. Mark was nothing like her mother's family. He would be thrilled to see her. If he still owned the place.

Beckett ran a hand in her dark curls, and pushed the door open. The writer followed, stepping inside more slowly, taking the bar in. He liked _Jo's Café _at once. It was small, but cozy and well-arranged. The lighting was not so dim that you couldn't see a thing, but it was not bright enough to take away the intimate atmosphere. Seemingly random objects hung from the brick walls – an old-looking guitar, a painting of the sun setting on a country house, a cowboy hat, a poster for the concert of an unknown singer, dating back to fifteen years ago. The chairs looked comfy, and there was a small stage in the back. "Live music on Fridays, karaoke nights on Tuesdays," a sign advertised near the entrance. Castle smiled, and suddenly wished it was Tuesday.

The room was empty (it was still pretty early, after all), except for a couple men who were downing their beers on one side, and a tall guy behind the bar who had his back to them and was busy wiping glasses dry. When the door closed, the bartender turned to them with a smile. And froze when he saw Kate.

He was in his fifties, Rick thought, even though there was very little grey in his dark hair. The deep lines in his tanned face gave him the sort of rugged charm that Robert Redford pulled off in _The Horse Whisperer _(and, needless to say, that Castle intended to go for when he became old – many, many years from now).

"Well, if that isn't Katherine Beckett," the man whispered, obviously stunned.

"Hi, Mark," Kate said. Rick couldn't see her face, but her voice was thick with emotion.

Suddenly Mark went into motion and stepped away from the bar, then forward, pulling the dark-haired woman in a tight hug.

"Katie. Damn, kid, I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't call…"

"Hey, now. Don't give me that. I'm just glad you're here. I wasn't sure – even with Lily –"

He stepped back, keeping his hands on Beckett's forearms, taking her in.

"You look wonderful, Kate. And the long hair… It works for you just as it did for her."

Castle half-expected his partner to tense up at the evocation of her mother, but she simply let out a shaky laugh.

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

The compliment brought a mixture of pride and tenderness in the man's dark brown eyes. Then, for the first time, he looked past Kate, straight into the writer's blue eyes.

"And who is this?" he asked the detective, extending a hand to Castle.

"Mark, this is Richard Castle, my friend and…unofficial partner. Castle, this is Mark Goodman, an old friend of my mom's."

"Nice to meet you," Rick said, shaking hands with the older man.

"Richard Castle. The novelist? That explains why you looked kind of familiar. I've read a couple of your books. Good stuff."

"Thanks. You should read the last two, if you haven't. Nikki Heat, the main character? She is based on Beckett here."

"Really?"

Mark turned to Kate, who was looking awkward-but-flattered, as usual when Nikki was mentioned.

"_Loosely_ based on me," the detective clarified with an eye-roll that was clearly intended for Castle (_shut your damn mouth and stop making me uncomfortable_, it said, and the writer got the message alright).

He obeyed in his own way, which meant he looked at her fondly, a smile playing on his face. Kate's old friend noticed, and started to ask, "Are you two…?"

He stopped because he didn't want to pry, but Kate had already sucked in a breath and answered, "No, we're not…"

"A couple," Richard finished obligingly when she hesitated on the word to use.

The owner of _Jo's Café_ gave them a part-confused, part-disbelieving look, but he didn't push further. Instead he lead them to a table in the corner, and offered to bring them whatever drinks they wanted ("on the house," he added with a wink at Beckett).

He joined them for a bit, eager to find out how Kate was doing, and what her life was like. Eventually the conversation somehow morphed into Rick and Mark swapping stories about how extraordinary Katherine Beckett was, which had the detective laughing, protesting and blushing in turns. Then a group of ten people walked in, and Kate's friend went back to his job.

"Nice guy," Castle said appreciatively as soon as Mark was out of earshot.

"I'll make sure he has your number," Beckett replied without missing a beat.

"Are you kidding? What about Ryan and Esposito?"

Kate pretended to think about it for a few seconds.

"You're right, it would break their hearts. Unless I call them and make sure they wouldn't mind a foursome?"

The writer's brow furrowed.

"Thank you, Beckett, for that delightful mental picture. Now I feel cheap _and_ dirty."

"No more than usual, I'm sure," she shot back, unable to help herself.

Smiling, Kate looked away from Castle's mock indignant face and caught sight of Mark welcoming customers. He was almost exactly the same man as the one she remembered. _Funny how some people age better than others_. Not for the first time, she wondered what her mother would have looked like, had she been alive.

"He was in love with her, you know," she said absentmindedly, playing with the straw in her drink.

She only realized she had spoken out loud when Castle, who was still nursing his pride, looked up in confusion. Then he followed his partner's gaze and caught up.

"With your mother?" he asked in a low voice, just to be sure.

Beckett nodded.

"_Jo's Café_," she said, her face unreadable.

"He named it after her?"

The writer's blue eyes widened. That was love alright.

"I think so," Kate answered, always inclined to tell the truth. "He never told me anything about it. In fact, as a child and as a teenager, I was completely oblivious to it. We only came here once a year or so, and to me they were the best friends in the world."

She sighed, and her green eyes left Mark to meet Rick's gaze.

"He came to her funeral. I think that's when I realized – when I saw he and my Dad give stiff little nods to each other. Or maybe it was his face when he saw the coffin."

"What do you think happened?" Castle asked (his usual interest for the story had just awakened). "Think he asked her out but she only saw him as a friend?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he never said a thing," Beckett observed.

"She must have known, though."

"Maybe she had an idea, but she thought that if it mattered so much to him he would have said something – fought for her."

The detective suddenly wondered if they were still talking about her mother and Mark. To his credit, Castle only watched her pensively, clearly building over what she had said.

"Maybe he thought she was in love with someone else, like your dad? And he kept his mouth shut out of respect for her, because he didn't want her upset or confused?"

The writer arched his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. He looked relaxed enough, but Kate knew his tells: the slight furrowing of his brow, the fingers that wouldn't sit still around his bottle of beer. She pressed her lips together, her eyes locking onto Rick's. No, this wasn't about her mother anymore.

"I still think he should have told her how he felt," she said, her voice quiet and unwavering; and she watched as light and understanding suffused the writer's face. The corners of his mouth went up and he parted his lips to speak –

And then Mark stopped by their table, nearly knocking off an empty beer bottle. Beckett and Castle jumped, and the moment was over. The detective didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"So, what are you singing tonight, Katie?" The café's owner asked, providing a welcome change of subject. Or maybe not so welcome.

"I thought karaoke nights were on Tuesdays?" she asked lightly, hoping to talk her way out of this (and deliberately ignoring the fact that her partner looked entirely too enthusiastic at the perspective).

"Not for you, my dear," Mark replied just as smoothly. "Besides, it's the tradition, isn't it? Your mother never walked out of here without having graced us with a tune."

Castle's eyebrows were reaching new heights with every word spoken, Beckett noticed with some worry. The older man left to take an order, but not before he had provided them with a list of the songs available. The writer flipped happily through the pages, then looked up at his partner, grinning.

"So, a tradition, uh?"

Oh, Lord, Kate thought. He was never going to give up on this.

"My mom's tradition, Castle, not mine," she emphasized, her voice holding a note of warning.

It was fun watching him try and determine whether he could push the issue a little, or whether the reference to her mother put it off limits. Then a sly smile take over his face, and the detective braced herself to hear whatever way out he had found.

"Never thought I'd see you back out from a challenge, Beckett," he dropped nonchalantly, looking ostensibly at the stage.

Kate suppressed a laugh. Did he really think she was _that_ easy to manipulate? But the sparkle in her blue eyes made her revise her opinion – he was trying to c_harm_ her into this, titillating her in every way he could think of.

She suddenly switched gears.

"You know what, _Rick_? I'll sing if you sing."

There. Maybe that would dampen his eagerness somewhat.

"Deal," Castle said with a devilish expression on his face.

Or maybe not. Yeah, it had been rather silly of her to think that he wouldn't be ready to humiliate himself if it meant he could humiliate her, too. Mmh. Kate tried to salvage what she could; there was no way in hell she was going on this stage on her own. Not even to impress Castle.

"A duet, then?"

Castle's grin went into Cheshire cat mode.

"Why, detective; I thought you'd never ask."


	5. Until Tomorrow

**A/N:** So, I guess those who enjoy long chapters will be happy with this one. I haven't done it in a while, but I should definitely thank my beta, Whatarushh, for her help and support! And thank you guys for your encouraging words - you're awesome. GhostWriterLost, I promise - we'll get to see Beckett's family in the next chapter ;).

**Disclaimer: I don't own Castle (the wonderful Andrew Marlowe does). **

* * *

><p>It took them forever to agree on a song. Beckett declared firmly that she was <em>not<em> singing anything out of _Moulin Rouge _(though what she really meant was, "I'm not singing a love song with you")_. _Castle pouted, and decided as a payback that musicals were off limits, arguing that he had heard his mother sing all of these and had not gotten over the trauma yet.

It considerably narrowed down their choices. And even so, they managed to argue on the rare songs that fit their criteria.

"Oh sure, Castle, I can do a song by Celine Dion. My voice is just _perfect_ for that," Beckett said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well why don't you _find_ something instead of just shooting down my ideas?" Rick answered, sounding somewhat irritated.

Kate made a frustrated noise and grabbed the catalogue, flipping through it. _Damn, were all those songs about freaking love? _ She went back to the first pages, looking more carefully, until her eyes fell on a title. It was Johnny Cash and June Carter's version of "It Ain't Me, Babe", a track she had heard dozens of times – to say her father was a Johnny Cash fan would have been an understatement. It was a good tune that she knew fairly well, and it was not the traditional love song either.

She glanced sideways at Castle, trying to guess what objections he would come up with.

"What?" he asked, "What did you find?"

Beckett wordlessly turned the page towards him, half-expecting him to say _no_ just to annoy her. From the expression on his face, he was going to do just that until he read the title and stopped with his lips parted to consider.

"Johnny Cash?" he wondered, raising his eyes and an eyebrow at her.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing. He's great. Although this song is originally by –"

"– Bob Dylan, I know," Kate interrupted impatiently.

A look of surprise crossed the writer's face, and a faint smile danced on his lips as he tried his best – and failed – not to be impressed. An exasperated sigh escaped the detective's lips at his lack of an answer.

"Focus, Castle. The song."

"It's a good one."

"Great," she stated somewhat disbelievingly.

"Great. Let's do it."

If there was one thing that Richard Castle enjoyed doing every occasion he got, it was taking Detective Kate Beckett by surprise. Before he could get another reaction out of her, he stood up and said with a wink, "I'll go tell Mark."

Kate watched him go, her brow furrowing slightly. Why again had she agreed to this? Yet, if she had examined closely the feeling bubbling in her stomach, she would have found it wasn't anxiety. No, it was in fact much closer to excitement – not that she'd ever acknowledge it, anyway.

* * *

><p>"Ladies and gentlemen, I know this is not our usual karaoke night, but I'm making an exception for a very dear friend of mine that I haven't seen in a while. So, give it up for Kate, and her friend Rick!"<p>

Beckett felt her cheeks heat up, but she smiled graciously and followed Castle on stage, taking the mic from Mark with narrowed eyes that said _you will pay for this_. He only beamed at her in response.

And then the music started.

Richard Castle, she found, was not content with merely _singing_ the song. No, see, he felt the need to _act_ it, too. Martha Rodgers's son he was, without a shadow of a doubt. When he told her to "go away from his window", he looked appropriately dark and brooding – when he said he "would only let her down", it was with a theatrical mixture of sorrow and regret.

Kate initially wanted to laugh, but she changed her mind and played along, which proved to be more fun than she'd ever have expected. Castle, however, could never keep a serious face for long, and when they got to the chorus he was smiling again, blue eyes sparkling with delight as he assured her that "it wasn't him, no, it wasn't him she was looking for".

Mmh. She had gone for the song because it wasn't the typical "I will love you forever" ballad, but she was not sure what was happening here. Their united voices, however, made for a nice harmony, and Kate let herself be swept away by the pleasure of singing, and of singing with a partner who could match her abilities. In fact, the writer turned out to be much better at this than she would have guessed at first – without having an extraordinary talent, he knew his voice well, and he knew how to use it.

When they got to the last lines of the last verse – _And will love you for your life/And nothin' more _– Castle looked straight into her eyes and she belatedly realized what the feeling at the pit of her stomach was. The song didn't mean what she thought it meant. She hadn't listened to it in years, and at the time she had been too young to understand. But Rick, who sang the chorus like he meant the exact opposite, knew.

Oh, hell. Kate missed the next attack, but quickly caught up, trying to ignore the sudden rush in her heartbeat. She finished the song in a daze, and avoided her partner's blue eyes as they both thanked their applauding audience and made their way back to their table.

It was a song about unrealistic expectations about love. About how wrong it was to expect someone to always agree with you and defend you. A song about someone who feared he would let the other down; someone who didn't want to disappoint or be disappointed. _Way to go, Kate_, she thought. _And you thought this one was safe?_

"You have a beautiful voice," Rick said quietly, tentatively as they sat down.

Beckett's head jerked towards him, and her eyes met his searchingly. There was no humor in them, no double-entendre or innuendo – just sincere admiration, and a wish to make sure they were okay. She relaxed a little.

"Thanks, Castle. You're actually not so bad yourself."

"Be careful, detective – that almost sounded like a compliment."

He playfully waggled his eyebrows, and some more tension vanished from Kate's body.

"I'll make sure to watch my words, then."

They smiled at each other, and pretended not to notice that those smiles were a little shaky, that their gazes were not quite as confident as they would have wanted them to be.

They say _fake it 'til you make it_, right?

* * *

><p>Beckett had taken a trip to the ladies' room when Mark came back to their table and sat down next to Rick. He had two young waiters helping with the customers, which made it easier to take a break. The café's owner took a long sip from the bottle of beer in his hand before asking, "So… She's here because of Lily, right?"<p>

"Yeah," Castle answered gravely.

"It's a sad business. All of it. When I think – it's like tragedy won't leave this family alone. Polly, first. Did Katie tell you about that?"

"She did."

"After that, things went okay for a while, if you forget the dad's reaction… The Fields girls were renowned for their good looks, you know? Rose, Johanna and Lily. Everybody knew them around here."

The writer was listening attentively, his drink forgotten on the table.

"They were all very pretty, but Johanna had this extra thing. She just – shone. Made friends wherever she went. And her smile…"

Affection and regret mingled in Mark's voice, and Rick could tell that Beckett was right. That man had been in love with Johanna Beckett – or Fields, depending on how you chose to look at it. But if Castle had to make a guess, he would have said that Goodman had never spoken a word about it. The way he talked about her was the way you talk about someone you admire very much, but consider out of your league. Not for the first time, the writer wished he could have met Kate's mom.

"Her mother didn't like it when Jo hung out with me. I guess she feared I was a bad influence or something. Which is strange because, after all, Victoria Middleton was the rich girl who had married Samuel Fields, the average guy – you would have expected her to be different from her parents. And yet, the way she raised her daughters was… Strict, to say the least."

He shook his head, bewildered.

"I never could understand her. Doesn't matter, I guess. But she got more than her fair share of misery. Losing her husband, and three daughters – can you imagine?"

It was all Rick could do to shake his head slowly. Maybe he could imagine, but he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"What did Lily die from?" he inquired suddenly, realizing he hadn't asked Beckett.

"Brain aneurism, I heard. Not the kind of thing you can see coming. She was just fifty," he sighed. "Sad business, really."

Castle couldn't help but agree.

Kate walked out of the restroom and stilled when she caught sight of Mark sitting next to Castle, the two apparently deep in conversation. A smile danced briefly on her face. For some reason, she was glad that they were getting along so well.

Her mother had taught Kate that regrets didn't get you anywhere in life. And as far as the detective was concerned, her decision to stop all relationships with her Whitesboro relatives had been right. But she did regret how it had affected her friendship with Mark. Sure, they still called each other from time to time; and about six years ago, he had come to New York City on a business trip, and they had met for coffee. That was how Beckett knew that Mark had divorced his wife, Leslie, and that their three-year marriage had not resulted in any children.

Mark Goodman was a loner; that much was easy to tell. But Kate wondered if it was really his choice, or if things had just turned out this way. He cared deeply about Jo's Café; it was his life's work. But what else did he have?

The similarity between them was too great for Kate to refrain from wondering, what did _she _have?

Shaking off the depressing thought, the detective stepped forward, and matching smiles lit up the two men's faces when their gazes turned to her. Unexpected warmth spread through Beckett. Whatever she had, or didn't have, she was not alone. The knowledge burned bright inside her, and for now, it was enough.

Mark stood up, saying quietly to Rick, "No need to mention that I told you all that stuff. I'm not sure she'd like that."

The bar owner looked a little uncomfortable, as if he had just realized that he had shared more than he had intended. Castle smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, I have Kate's best interests at heart."

"Only her interests?" the older man asked in a low voice, with a subtle smile.

Beckett reached them at that moment, and he excused himself before taking back his place behind the bar. The detective arched an eyebrow.

"What were you two talking about?"

"Eh, nothing much. Guy stuff, you know – baseball teams. Local beer."

She could tell he was lying. But she knew Mark, knew that none of what he had to say could hurt her, and she let it go. Kate sat down and took a sip of the vodka Martini that she had been nursing for a while.

Castle watched her smooth gesture, his eyes taking in the reddish tint of her lips, the stray curl that her left hand gently pushed back behind her ear. And he thought that if Mark Goodman, a man he had known for all of two hours, could tell that he, Richard Castle, was in love with Kate Beckett…then he was in deeper trouble than he had thought.

* * *

><p>They took a different route to go back to the hotel.<p>

Kate walked slowly, lifting her chin and breathing in the night air – it was spring, and the flowers and trees around them each released its own, sweet flagrance. The wind had calmed down, which made walking around much more pleasurable than it was earlier. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Beckett realized with some surprise that she had not been completely right about what coming back to Whitesboro would do to her. Sure, some things hurt, but there were also good memories associated with the place – and there was the knowledge that her mother had spent her youth here. A soft smile found its way to the detective's lips.

Richard Castle was drinking in the sight of Kate Beckett walking next to him, looking as beautiful as ever in a dark blue jacket, eyes closed, long dark hair falling messily across her shoulders. It was not that often that he got to spend time with her off work; and when it had happened over the last few months, Josh had been at the back of his mind, clouding his happiness.

He wasn't now.

He wasn't now, and Kate was walking next to him, looking as comfortable as he could possibly wish in his company. Feeling a smile of his own stretch his lips, Castle stored the sensation away – the glowing, warming, tingling joy that almost had his toes curling – to relish and delight in later. His eyes stopped on a sign planted on the building closest to them.

"Is that the high school your mom went to?"

The green eyes he knew so well flew open, and Kate's smile widened as his words sunk in. For whatever reason, tonight it pleased her to think of her mother alive, to think of her mother breathing and laughing and chatting with her friends from school. The pain had left her alone.

"Yeah, it is. Makes you want to move to Whitesboro, Castle?"

He chuckled, his eyes assessing the grey, square building that looked more intimidating than anything else.

"I'm not sure Alexis would forgive me for taking her away from Ashley," he quipped back.

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't. First love is sacred, you know. But I'm also sure _you_ would never even consider leaving the city," Beckett taunted with a knowing glance.

"Oh, I don't know. My property on the moon sounds kinda appealing when Gina starts calling three times a day."

Kate actually threw her head back and laughed. It was not even _that_ funny – but in truth, she felt like laughing, and was glad he had given her an excuse for it. The relaxed, full-bodied sound resounded clearly in the night, and Rick stared at her with something in his eyes that could only be described as awe. She looked away, hoping the darkness would hide the blush on her cheeks.

"What kind of student do you think your mother was?"

Her gaze flew back to his before she could help it. It always startled her – that way their thoughts sometimes followed parallel paths.

"From the stories she told me, she was the annoyingly smart student. You know, the one who catches the teacher's mistakes and lets him know in front of the class? Well, that was my mom."

Castle made an interested little noise.

"And she still managed to make friends?"

"Hey, what student in high school doesn't want to see their teachers humiliated? Besides, she only did this with the unpopular ones. Like this math teacher she had, who was a little too interested in his female students – one day, he writes this equation on the blackboard and asks if anybody can solve it. So my mom raises her hand, and tells him, "Sir, I think you made a mistake with the second term. But even if there was a solution, I'm sure it wouldn't be written on my boobs."

"You're kidding me!" the writer exclaimed, somewhere between shock and amusement. "And she didn't get expelled for that?"

"She was called into the headmaster's office, but no, she didn't even get detention. Apparently, most teachers were rather fond of her."

Kate grinned and he couldn't help thinking, _I can understand why if she was anything like you_.

"Were _you_ like that when you were in high school?" Rick asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He didn't want to push his luck, but she was being so open and unguarded… Whether it was the change of setting, or simply their relationship moving forward the same way it had been over the past few months – he didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.

The detective was thoughtful, and she bit her lower lip lightly, remnants of her smile lingering over her beautiful face.

"No, I wasn't," she answered after a beat. "I was more like the shy student who knows the answers but will never raise her hand to say them out loud."

Castle opened his mouth to comment, but Beckett was faster than him.

"And if you ever use or share this information in any way, you will not live long to regret it."

He nodded readily, and ventured to say, "This doesn't sound like the way Madison described you, though."

Kate snorted.

"Ok, so first of all, you can't exactly rely on Maddy's memories from high school. They tend to be a little – blurry, if you see what I mean. I understand vodka can do that to you."

Rick chuckled as she went on, giving him a coy look, "But they're not all blurred, either. I was the shy girl in class. Most of the time, anyway. But outside of class…"

She willingly let her voice trailed over the words, and ran her tongue over her lips, pretending to be choosing her words. Her partner was watching her, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and clearly in danger of asphyxiation. He was _so_ easy.

"Let's just say the words "wild child" come to mind," Beckett finished in a whisper. She had to suppress a laugh when she saw disappointment take over fascination on Castle's face. She walked a little faster, and sure enough, he followed.

"Wait, Beckett. You can't just leave me hanging there. I need details. Lots of details. Beckett?"

* * *

><p>When they got back to their room, Castle's phone rang – <em>The show must go on<em>, it blared, and Rick mouthed, "My mother". He winced slightly before he picked up, and Beckett shook her head in amusement. Trying to give him some privacy, she squatted down in front of her bag and fumbled for her vanity case. She was about to step in the bathroom when a hand on her arm stopped her.

The writer told Martha to wait for a second, and he covered the phone with his hand.

"I can sleep on the floor," he offered. "With the pillow and all the blankets they have in here, I'll be perfectly fine." He punctuated his words with a shrug that was too nonchalant to come from the heart.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Kate answered lightly without a moment's hesitation. "And I can sleep in the bathtub. Or then again, we can be reasonable adults and sleep in the bed. Your call."

And she slipped in the bathroom, closing the door. Castle stared at it for all of ten seconds, after which he decided that it was okay to be himself again.

"I'm calling dibs on the left side!" he exclaimed, loud enough for Beckett to hear.

She smirked – that was more like him – and couldn't help the words that flew out of her lips.

"I don't care which side you sleep on, Castle, as long as you _stay on it_."

Kate was smiling as she tied her hair up, pulled the make-up remover out of her bag, and looked at her reflection. Her hazel eyes shone brightly, her cheeks were slightly flustered – she didn't remember the last time she had looked that happy. Guilt suddenly reared its ugly head, threatening to take over. Beckett closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to find some sort of balance. She could hear the muffled sounds of Castle talking to his mother and it reminded her of the way his voice had mixed with hers at the bar, and the theatrical poses he took to make her laugh whenever she wasn't required to sing.

Tomorrow would be an emotional roller coaster, at best. And it would be painful. That much she knew for sure. Couldn't she at least let herself enjoy tonight and the reprieve it gave her? She chewed on her lower lip. Why did she always have to over-analyze _everything_?

She stripped to her underwear and reached for the baggy shirt she had brought to sleep in. Shirt. Damn. When she had packed her bag, she had – clearly – not been thinking about Castle tagging along. Much less about Castle actually sharing a room, and a bed, with her.

Beckett never wore pajama bottoms, for the simple reason that she liked having her legs free, and enjoyed the feel of the sheets on her bare skin (which wasn't exactly something she was eager for the writer to find out about). She still would have brought sweat pants, had she known, but that information didn't help matters any.

Putting the shirt on, she tried to decide if its mid-thigh length was acceptable. Well, here she was, over-thinking again_._ It wasn't like the man was going to complain, anyway. And he had seen plenty of leg before (the image of a burning apartment flickered at the back of her mind, before it was quickly dismissed). Letting her hair down again, Kate reached for her bag, gathered every ounce of nonchalance that she could find, and stepped outside the bathroom.

It suited her just fine that the writer had already settled in bed and opened a book, because it gave her a few precious seconds before he raised his eyes to her. It didn't keep said eyes from widening slightly (he was, after all, a man, and he had never made a mystery of how attractive he found her) but she was safely tucked in bed before he had had time to comment.

There was an awkward silence as they valiantly tried to ignore the intimacy evoked by their current situation. Then she asked what he was reading – it was a mystery by a French female novelist, called Fred Vargas – and as the writer started detailing the characters and the plot to her, the tension eased away, tiptoeing out of the room like a sulking child who would have realized his place wasn't there.

"It's very different from anything I'd write," Castle commented animatedly. "Maybe that's why I like it so much. It's hard to explain – somehow it's more about the thinking process of the main character, Chief Inspector Adamsberg, than about finding material evidence. It may sound silly, especially since you're a cop, but I think it's worth a try. I really like the way she writes, and it's funny how the French police department is both similar to and different from ours…"

When Kate turned off the lights, moments later, he had engaged to lend the book to her as soon as he finished it, and there was only affection in the detective's voice as she wished her partner goodnight.

"Until tomorrow, Beckett," he answered pointedly, eliciting a smile on her face that she was sort of glad he couldn't see.

"And I know you're smiling," he stage-whispered contentedly, and she hastily wiped the grin off her lips.

"Am not."

"Are too."

She opened her mouth to retort, but realized this could go on forever. Putting extra emphasis on her next words, she said, "Goodnight, Castle."

He chuckled – a low rumble that seemed to come from deep within him – and replied with a smile in his voice, "Night, Kate."

She rolled on her side so that she would face the wall. Better not tempt herself any further, she thought. If the soft, steady way in which he spoke her name could send a shiver racing down her back, she was not eager to find out what other parts of him could do to her. (And no, that was _not _a reference to their undercover kiss. She barely even remembered it. At all.)

* * *

><p>It's cold. No, not cold – freezing. The kind of freezing where you feel like if you hit your hand too hard it will break and fall to pieces on the ground, just like a China doll would. The kind of freezing where even breathing hurts.<p>

It isn't dark, though; in fact, everything's a startling, blinding white, everywhere she looks. She surveys her surroundings. There's a crumpled body on the ground, some twenty feet away. She walks towards it, taking purposeful strides that echo in the white coldness. She feels like she knows the identity of the corpse, and her eyebrows are knit in an effort to remember as she squats down and reaches for the dead guy. She rolls him over and whatever expectations she might have had fall to the ground as the air whooshes out of her lungs and her heart starts hammering painfully inside her chest.

The lifeless blue eyes of Richard Castle stare back without seeing her and her brain registers without wanting to the neat, red bullet wound at the center of his forehead. Suddenly Mark Fallon is standing next to her, his chocolate eyes looking at her with indescribable sadness, and he whispers "I'm sorry… I'm sorry." The words repeat themselves over and over again in her mind, matching the ever-quickening beat of her heart as everything around her blurs and loses its meaning, if it ever had one. She wants to snap at Fallon, tell him it's not over (it _can't_ be) but she cannot breathe, much less talk, and she looks up at him, desperate for air, for help; but he continues to watch sorrowfully without making the slightest move, his lips mouthing the words she can no longer hear over her pounding heart. _I'm sorry._

Kate woke up with a start, her breathing ragged and her forehead damp with sweat. Eyes wide open in the dark, her mind grasped at consciousness, trying to identify her whereabouts – trying to reestablish the frontier between dream and reality. Between _nightmare_ and reality. Taking slow, deep breaths, she recovered her control bit by bit, her logical side hard at work to piece together her dream and dismiss it. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by the time she carefully laid down again, wincing at the contact of her wet pillow case. She flipped the pillow in a quick move, and only then turned to Castle, her right cheek resting against the cool fabric.

He was still asleep – thank God – even though he mumbled something vague and rolled towards her, as if aware on some level that she needed him. The detective held her breath; but no, he didn't wake. Reassured, Kate watched hungrily the rise and fall of his chest, listened eagerly for the little noises he made as he dreamed. Anything that told her how alive he was felt more than welcome.

When she was calm again (or as calm as she was going to get) Beckett let her mind wander. She was surprised that her fears had chosen that moment to resurface. The first night after the bomb she had spent almost entirely awake, snuggled against Josh's side. The freezer had been too close a call for her not to be shaken. But after that, it had gotten easier. As a cop, Kate had had training to deal with trauma; she had learnt how to compartmentalize, how to not let her fears and emotions affect her grasp on reality. Sure, the occasional nightmare had woken her up these past few days, but she had felt she was in control again.

She had dreamed of her mother after she had gotten the call about Lily. She couldn't remember the details, though it had lingered over her the next morning. But Castle's death…

It wasn't exactly new (she still shuddered to think of the nightmares that had plagued her immediately after the Triple Killer case) but the vivid image of his lifeless face, of the bullet in his forehead was enough to dry her throat and send waves of nausea through her stomach. _It didn't happen, didn't happen, didn't happen, _she told herself sternly. Strange, that the unexpected closeness with Castle seemed to have triggered this reaction on her part. At least, she thought with a joyless smile, she had the remedy close at hand.

Suddenly she found herself wondering what her aunt's face had looked like in death; and for the first time since Emily's phone call, Beckett felt the information sink in. Lily was dead. Kate would never see her again, never get to ask her about the title of this children's book that her aunt used to read her when she was little (something about a purple unicorn and a yellow bunny, no matter how weird that sounded) – never get to hug her and tell her she was sorry for not calling.

Lily was dead. Gone.

The detective felt tears well up in her eyes and, very quietly, she let them roll down her face. Curled up in bed, Kate wept over the things that had never been and would never be, and she went back to sleep, lulled by Castle's even breathing – dreaming of those which still had a chance to come true.


	6. First Impressions

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! Sorry about the longer delay this time; for some reason this chapter didn't want to come together, and as we all know, life has this annoying habit of getting in the way. But anyway, it's here now, and it's rather _long_ (I didn't mean for it to grow like this, but well...it did). I hope you like it, and I'll try to keep the next one under 5,000 words. I promise. :)

**Disclaimer: Castle and its wonderful characters don't belong to me.  
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* * *

><p>Rick was first to wake up the next morning. It only took him ten seconds to remember where he was and why, but even then the smile on his lips refused to fade. They were going to a funeral, and he was only here as her friend, and he was not even sure what exactly had made her say yes in the first place, but he had just woken up in the same bed as Kate Beckett for the very first time ever, and though he logically knew it didn't <em>mean<em> anything, there was no silencing the contented humming resounding through his body, no denying that her face was turned towards him and that Beckett looked absolutely adorable when she slept, lips slightly parted, locks of hair falling messily over her harmonious features.

_I still think he should have told her how he felt._

Her words from last night came back to him, and he couldn't quite make up his mind what to do about them. Were they even intended for him? _You're just being a coward here, Ricky_. Even if Kate hadn't aimed her comment at him, she had still been pretty clear about the whole thing. She thought _telling_ was a good idea.

But obviously, he had to take into account that the time and place may not be exactly appropriate. _Since when do _you _care about appropriate?_ A sneaky little voice asked at the back of his mind. He bit back a groan. He cared because it was Kate this was about. There. He cared because _she _deserved things done right, because she was worth a thousand Merediths, a hundred Ginas – and because there were times where he wasn't quite sure he deserved her at all.

_I still think he should have told her how he felt._

But those were her words, weren't they? So what, was he supposed to lay it all on her, look her in the eyes – those gorgeous sometimes-hazel-sometimes-green eyes – and tell her – what? "So, shouldn't you get arrested, you know, for stealing my heart?" Oh, God, that was pathetic. And to think he called himself a writer. "Beckett. You may have guessed this by now, what with the amount of creepy staring I do, and that _absolutely amazing_ kiss we happened to share to save Ryan and Esposito's lives, and how terrified I was that you'd die in my arms in a stupid freezer, but… I think I may be in love with you, just a little." Too wordy; he would blabber on and on, she would roll her eyes before he got to the point, and the moment would be ruined.

He looked up at the object of his meditation, who was sleeping peacefully, her face half buried in the pillow, blissfully unaware of the amount of anxiety she was causing; and a smile slowly appeared on his face. He would remember her words, he decided, but that didn't mean he had to act on them now. He was here as her friend, and that was what mattered most. He would give whatever support she needed, because this was about her.

And once the funeral was over, they'd see.

He watched her for a moment, and it took him all of his willpower not to reach for the soft-looking skin, not to scoot closer and feel her warmth. _Enough_, he told himself, when he had engraved everything in his memory (from the shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks to the way her fingers periodically clenched over the sheets). _Enough, now._

Moving as stealthily as he could, Rick got out of bed and silently made his way to the shower. When he was dressed and his mind had cleared up a little, he went back into the room, finding Beckett still asleep, but sprawled in the middle of the bed. The picture made him smile.

He settled down in the armchair where he'd left his clothes the night before, and turned off the alarm he had set to wake them up at nine. The memorial service was scheduled to start at eleven, and Kate could definitely use some more sleep, if you asked him. She did a great job of hiding it – and concealer probably helped, too – but he had noticed that she'd seemed tired in the past few days. And not just physical fatigue – weariness, too. It worried him.

A wry smile crossed his face. His mother worried about him. He worried about Beckett. Who did the good detective worry about? Before he could give some thought to the matter, however, his eyes landed on his laptop and he let out an involuntary sigh. Gina had been adamant about getting the next five chapters by the end of the week; so far, he had maybe five paragraphs that he deemed good enough to send.

Oh, well, he thought, nipping a tiny flicker of guilt in the bud before it could get a chance to grow. Gina could wait. It wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes he found the reality of Beckett so fascinating that it became hard to focus on her fictional alter-ego. But he did turn on his computer, if only to ease his conscience, and opened the Nikki Heat file.

Castle had pages and pages of unreleased scenes between Nikki and Rook, sitting on his computer. Some he had discarded because they were irrelevant to the plot he was working on; some because they were too close variations of moments that had actually happened between himself and Kate; some because they belonged to some bright and happy future that he wasn't even sure Nikki and Rook were going to get. Maybe, some time, he would show a few of them to Beckett. Or he could compile his favorite ones and have them bound for her birthday. She would probably like that, wouldn't she?

Oh, wow. Was he really planning on what to get Kate for her birthday? Her birthday that was in eight months' time, give or take?

Jeez, he needed to cool off. Maybe Nikki could wait after all. He would get breakfast first; breakfast would fill his stomach and help dissipate his crazy ideas. Hopefully.

* * *

><p>Kate woke to a light tapping sound that made her wonder if it was raining or if she should go answer the door. Rolling over, she opened a lazy eye and found that it was neither. Taking in the fact that Castle was dressed and already busy with his laptop, and that some daylight was filtering through the curtains, she asked in a slurred voice, stifling a yawn, "How long have you been up?"<p>

"No more than an hour. There was this chapter for _Heat Rises _that was just banging against my skull, demanding to be let out."

That was a big fat lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Beckett made a noncommittal noise that he decided to take as encouragement. Her eyelids slid close again – too much light – and she was about to ask the time when he said, "It's nine thirty. And here I was, thinking Kate Beckett was an early riser."

Kate could hear the laughing undercurrent to his voice. Damn him.

"And here I was, thinking Richard Castle was a gentleman," she shot back half-heartedly.

"Ouch, Beckett," he exclaimed. Then he added in a thoughtful tone, "Actually, I don't believe you've ever thought that."

She couldn't help it; she chuckled. Stretching her limbs in a catlike manner, she took a minute to enjoy the warmth and comfort of the bed before she opened her eyes in a more decided manner. She found herself staring into Castle's blue orbs.

All of a sudden she was very aware that her hair probably looked like a complete mess, that she had absolutely no make-up on, and that being on the receiving end of the writer's stare at nine in the morning while still in bed felt way too intimate for her to condone it. And she had thought sharing a room would be alright?

"I'm going to shower," Kate said, quickly moving the comforter away and swinging her legs out of bed. Rick's eyes travelled to them briefly before they went back to her face.

"Don't you want breakfast first?"

He gestured to her bedside table, and she noticed for the first time the tray resting on it. The toast and jam and coffee definitely caused an impatient reaction in her belly, but Beckett had priorities. Priorities that included not letting Richard Castle see more of her than he already had.

"No, I'll just eat when I'm ready."

And she disappeared into the bathroom with the clothes she had been clever enough to arrange into a neat little pile the night before.

Castle stared after her for a minute. It was unnatural for anyone's eyes to look so green, wasn't it?

He forced himself to take a deep breath and drive his thoughts down a safer road.

"Just friends," he had told Mark Fallon.

Yeah, right.

* * *

><p>About twenty minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened and Kate came out, with her hair damp and pulled into a twist that rested on her shoulder, dripping lightly on her dress. Her V-neck, knee-length, elegant black dress.<p>

"Castle, would you pass me my bag, please?"

The words were lost on the writer. He didn't know where to look; at the dark, shiny mass of her hair; at the clear skin of her forehead where water drops were catching the morning light; or at the way her dress hugged her form in all the right places while still leaving enough of her gorgeous legs for him to see.

"Castle?" she asked, sounding half-impatient, half-amused. She was a little surprised, too; after all, the dress she had worn when they had gone to the nightclub to pick up Oz was far more revealing than this one.

What Beckett didn't realize was how little the dress, in fact, had to do with the writer's reaction. Rick himself would have found it hard to put into words – it had to do with how intimate it felt, to be confronted with a Kate fresh out of the shower; with the cherry scent that had invaded the room along with the steam when she had opened the door (it _had_ to be her shampoo or her conditioner); with the sudden, overwhelming gratitude he felt towards fishermen and conventions and fully-booked hotels in general.

When she threw her hair back in a way that clearly indicated her discomfort, however, he snapped out of it.

"Right. Bag."

He grabbed it and gave it to her with a sheepish smile before looking away. He really needed to stop gawking at her like a teenager every chance he got. Even _he_ found it creepy. Sleep-stalking her was one thing; turning into mush when she got out of bed, or stepped out of the bathroom – quite another. He was almost forty years old. This was getting ridiculous.

_Get a grip, Rick_, he thought as the sound of a hairdryer rose in the background. _Do your thing, poke your nose around. Just keep her from thinking about how dumb you looked two minutes ago._ He waited until the bathroom was quiet again to ask enthusiastically:

"So, Beckett. How many cousins do you have?"

There was a pause before she answered – he could picture her furrowing her brow, trying to see where he was going with this.

"Mmh, eight. Why?"

"Just curious. So, how many are your aunt Rose's children?"

"Three. Castle, what's with the questions?"

Kate put down the pin she had meant to stick in her hair and poked her head through the bathroom door to get a visual on the writer. He was laying on top of the bed, on his back – a notebook in one hand, a pen in the other. She arched an eyebrow at him when he looked up at her.

"Are you taking _notes_?"

The undercurrent in her voice could have been amusement or anger, and Rick quickly sat up with the look of a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I just figured…I'm going to meet them all, right? I might as well know a little about them. It's completely innocent, I swear. None of it's going in the next Nikki Heat. Cross my heart and hope to die."

He put his hands up in the air, in the universal gesture for "I mean no harm". Beckett watched him for a moment, her face unreadable. Then she pressed her lips together and allowed a tiny, tiny smile on her face. The writer sighed in relief. She wasn't mad.

The detective tilted her head with a sly look.

"You know, I'd have printed my family tree for you if I had known you'd show that much interest."

Rick's eyes widened and he answered with absolute sincerity, "I would _love_ to have a copy of your family tree."

"I was _joking_. And wow, that's a creepy line, Castle. Even for you."

He had time to catch her small, cheeky smile before she disappeared back into the bathroom.

"So, if I ask nicely, can I have the names of Rose's children?"

His request only met a loud puff in response.

"Or would you rather have me sing my version of Madonna's "Music"?"

One of the rare times when Beckett had allowed him to turn on the radio of her Crown Vic, it had been "Music" playing. They hadn't made it to the end of the song; Kate had reached for the button after all of thirty seconds, arguing that what he was doing with the melody was criminal. And she wasn't even a fan of Madonna.

The writer knew he wasn't a bad singer, _per se; _but sometimes he found it boring to just follow the beat and sing in tune. Well, most of the time, to be honest. Alexis, who had intensive training in dealing with her father's quirks, knew something that Kate had yet to discover: that the only way to stop him was to sing even louder, and more out of tune that he did. A devilish smile on his face, Castle waited patiently for his partner's answer. There was a pregnant pause, and then:

"Claire, Theodore and Margaret. But I'm warning you, Castle – if you want me to keep feeding you information, you'd better remember that "Music" is off limits. Or your singing abilities might find themselves impaired."

* * *

><p>"Okay, Castle. I'm good to go."<p>

Kate downed the cup of coffee that barely even deserved to be called warm anymore, and took a bite of toast, hoping that Castle wouldn't start one of his rants about eating a healthy breakfast.

Rick reluctantly looked up from the twisted family tree he had drawn and the mess of notes about who was who – and he didn't regret it. This was a side of Beckett he had never seen before; her hair was up, pulled into a tight bun; her black dress was matched by elegant black heels, and a soft-looking coat. And she wore _pearl earrings. _His eyes widened slightly. Pearl earrings were not something he had ever expected to see on detective Kate Beckett, NYPD.

It was hard to believe this was the same person as the woman who had once saved his ass from Russian mobsters who played poker in Chinatown, wearing a hooded dress that allowed a generous view of her red bra (not that he remembered or anything).

The Beckett onion. The comparison was nowhere near good enough; she was more like a set of Russian dolls, each one more delicately and beautifully painted than the one before. And it was impossible to predict what the next one would be like.

"You look –"

"Boring?" she asked with a dry smile. "That's the idea. The more you blend in, the more they leave you alone."

"I was just going to say _different_," he replied defensively, annoyed for some reason that she always seemed to expect the worse from him.

Kate looked around for her purse. It was on the dresser; she grabbed it and turned back to Richard, eyeing him critically. He squirmed a little. The black suit he had chosen was quite sober (except for its price) and he didn't know if she could find an objection to make.

"Don't you have a tie?" she asked, more sharply than she had to.

She really _was _nervous.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure you wanted –"

"Put it on," she ordered quickly.

_Bossy_. Although now was probably not the time to talk about the line between work and private life.

"Which one is your favorite?" he asked, holding out a charcoal tie and a solid black one. She hesitated for a short second.

"Wear the black one."

She started pacing as he tied the knot, and some of her anxiety finally rubbed off on him. He swore under his breath when the thing refused to come together the way he wanted it to.

"Will you just – stop pacing, please? You're making me nervous."

Beckett stilled for an instant, and she was at his side the next.

"Give me the tie."

"I can do it very well on my own, thank you –"

"Castle, it's either pacing or arranging this tie. Which one do you prefer?"

He surrendered, trying to keep his amusement from showing, and handed her the scrap of fabric. He had to admit that she made a quick, neat work of it (it got him unwillingly wondering what else those nimble fingers of hers were good at).

"There," she said, stepping away to look at the whole picture.

Their eyes met. There was a moment of silence, which they half expected Esposito to break with a sneer. Kate was the first to avert her gaze, to clear her throat.

"You look good."

It sounded more like an attempt to reassure herself than a compliment to him, but he didn't mind. Rick was equal parts scared of whatever made his usually collected partner such a bundle of nerves, and completely floored that she seemed to trust him enough to bring him along, especially when she knew how he tended to draw attention to himself.

Extraordinary, that's what she was. And he'd be damned if he ever let her go.

* * *

><p>Kate parked the car in a little street that led straight to the church. Rick reached for the door handle, but she stopped him with a "Castle, wait". He turned questioning eyes to her. Her own gaze remained steadily fixed on the wheel. Her hands were clasped together, and she licked her lips before saying, "We're early. There's no need to get in there right now."<p>

"So you want to wait in the car?"

The writer was perplexed. This didn't feel like the Beckett he knew, the Beckett who fought tooth and nail to find murderers, who ploughed relentlessly ahead, who faced every obstacle with her head held high. They had fifteen minutes until the funeral began, and it wasn't the longest delay.

Castle himself was not quite sure if he should be there. He had expressed doubts concerning the propriety of all this – but Kate had leveled a look on him that seemed to say, _I will not say the words but please, please come with me_, and muttered something about it being alright, and well, that had been that.

"Beckett?" he asked again when she didn't answer.

Green eyes glared at him, and for a moment she wanted to snap, _yes, Castle, I want to wait in the car because I'm downright terrified of seeing these people again and I don't want to have to make small talk when all I'm here to do is pay my respects to Lily and say goodbye because that's what my mother would have wanted and will you stop looking at me with so much freaking understanding?_

But he was right, of course, and Kate sighed, closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

"I'm gonna have to talk to them anyway, right?" She didn't wait for his answer, but opened her door and said firmly, "Okay. Let's go."

They walked up to the church side by side. Neither would have been able to tell who had initiated it, but when they got there Kate's fingers were firmly intertwined with Castle's, and she had no intention of letting go.

Lily's children were standing in line at the entrance, shaking hands and accepting condolences as the visitors came in. Lily's ex-husband, Robert, wasn't with them, but Kate spotted him walking in. She was glad that he hadn't felt appropriate to stand in front of the door; she had never liked the man, whose repeated cheating had been the cause for the couple's divorce. Lily had waited until her youngest daughter had turned twenty before she'd left Robert. Which meant – Kate quickly added up the years – that they had been separated for five years.

Sweet, invisible Lily, always thinking about others, and yet so easily manipulated.

The detective shook her head and came back to the present as Emily stepped forward.

"Kate. How wonderful to see you."

Well, that sounded heartfelt. Her carefully groomed cousin hugged her with as much affection as a pillow (in fact, the pillow would have been softer), and gave her dress a superior little glance that she probably thought would go unnoticed. Beckett ignored it; it wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last.

But Castle didn't. He caught the whole thing and smiled widely at Emily, playing the idiot with a certain amount of talent.

"She looks wonderful in that dress, doesn't she? Though I guess, it doesn't exactly matter on a day like this."

Ice blue eyes turned to him, a flash of shock and anger crossing them before their expression became more guarded. Kate had to suppress a smile.

"Emily, this is my friend and partner, Rick. Rick, my cousin Emily."

She and Castle had agreed on the use of first names for the occasion. Knowing her family, the detective had good reason to hope that very few of them had read Castle's books and would therefore be able to recognize him. The writer, whose primary object of focus was Kate, did not mind at all being incognito, especially if it made things easier. He was to be Rick, and introduced as Kate's partner – they would react as they saw fit if someone asked more questions.

Emily shook Rick's free hand with a strange mixture of distaste and curiosity – she couldn't help but notice the expensive suit and shoes that hardly screamed 'cop'. Then Sheila came forward and wrapped Kate in an embrace that was slightly too enthusiastic.

"Oh, Katie! It's been so long!"

It had always amazed Beckett that Emily and Sheila were sisters. Both their looks and personalities were at odds; the first being a thin, brown-haired, blue-eyed control freak while the second was all smiles, golden locks, round curves and syrupy voice. But there were similarities, if you dug deeper, in the way they attached a great deal of importance to appearances, and fell a little short on the feeling side.

After what she seemed to judge the right amount of time, the blonde-haired woman let go of Kate and turned to the writer with a smile that aimed at charming but only managed to be predatory. The detective winced and suddenly remembered that Sheila's main hobby during those summer months in Whitesboro had been to date the most handsome guy in town. The boys, once she had seduced them, usually lasted for a week or two before she moved on to the next one. After a few years, her focus had moved from the handsome guys to the rich ones – and Kate had tried her hardest to ignore Sheila's business.

She quickly introduced Castle as her partner, didn't miss the interest sparkling in her cousin's eyes, and moved on. Paul and George were standing next to each other, looking both grieved and dignified, though it didn't keep George from checking her out rather obviously. George belonged to the part of her family that Beckett had gladly turned her back to, along with Sheila and Emily. Paul was collateral damage – he was a nice guy, and Kate had never had anything against him.

Abby, the youngest of Lily's children, was last in line. She looked as if she was struggling to keep it together, her big blue eyes shining with tears. Kate didn't try to hug her, but simply squeezed her shoulder, and greeted her quietly. Abby wasn't the brightest tool in the shed, but she was a sweet, open-hearted girl who didn't have the cunning nor the predatory nature of either of her sisters. Kate truly felt for her.

Her hand still clasped with Castle's, the detective went inside the church. The air was cool inside, but the late morning light went straight through the stained glass, showing particles of dust floating through the room.

Kate's grandmother was standing near the altar, deep in conversation with an elderly, exhausted-looking woman. Great. Beckett could reserve that particular evil for later. She could not, however, avoid Rose, who was headed towards her. She was surprised that those two had not judged fitting to be standing in front of the church and judging people as they came in – but perhaps it was to be attributed to Emily's hunger for control and dominance. How lovely, she thought. Plastering a smile on her face, the detective gave a warning squeeze to her partner. _Behave._

What the writer saw in front of them was an elegant woman in her fifties, whose dark hair was probably tinted, and who he would have called beautiful if it hadn't been for the pursed, thin line of her lips that seemed to be her permanent expression.

"Katherine," she dropped coldly, looking her up and down. "How unexpected."

"Hello, Aunt Rose," the detective answered politely. "I would have thought Emily would have let you know I was coming."

"Maybe she did," the woman answered in a supremely indifferent tone.

Castle clenched his free fist, but he had to loosen it when Kate introduced him as her friend and co-worker. He almost extended a polite hand, but Rose didn't even glance at him. She seemed to be studying her niece, who didn't shy away from her gaze.

"Your grandmother is holding a luncheon at the house after the burial service. You're coming, of course?"

It wasn't a question, and neither Beckett nor her partner mistook it as one. But it didn't keep Kate from shooting a quick look at Rick, who shrugged imperceptibly. _Your call_, he seemed to be saying.

"Of course," she answered calmly.

"You look like your mother," Rose finally observed, and it was impossible to tell, either from her voice or face, if she deemed that a good or a bad thing. Then she turned away and moved to another group of people, leaving her stunned niece and her unnerved partner behind.

Kate didn't waste time and guided them towards free seats at the end of a row, eager to sit down before more members of her family could come and 'greet' them.

"I'm warning you," Castle whispered on the way, "Rose is not among the list of possible names for our daughter anymore. Which is sad, because I really enjoyed Kate Winslet's performance in _Titanic_."

"What daughter?" Kate asked absentmindedly, trying to determine if the seats were at a safe enough distance of her grandmother.

"The daughter you and I will have in the future, of course."

"Oh, that one."

He had to own it – her poker face was excellent. She didn't pause, didn't blush, didn't let anything show. She just sat down calmly as if he brought up their future children every day.

"Well, I'm making a note of that, Castle. But since the odds of that daughter ever coming into existence are about 0%, I don't think it matters that much."

Kate looked at him with fake apology written all over her face. He had to fight the grin that tugged at his lips in order to pout.

"Oh, come on. At least 0.5%? I did come here with you, after all."

She almost smiled at the whine in his voice, but caught herself in time. The writer waited to see if she was going to say something; and when she didn't, he ploughed relentlessly ahead.

"Plus, imagine this. A child with your dazzling smile and my way with words? The world wouldn't stand a chance, Beckett. We could make them do anything – start a new religion, demand that the world leaders abdicate in our favor, or, hey – stop global warming!"

This time she did smile. He looked too exuberant and altogether adorable for her not to.

"0.5%, then," she conceded.

Then she gestured for him to be quiet, because the priest was about to start. And besides, Beckett was fairly certain that if he said one more word, he would ruin the lovely picture that had formed in her mind. The picture of a little girl with a megawatt grin, and blue eyes that crinkled.

* * *

><p>The service didn't hold any surprises. Kate's family was traditional enough to let the priest give the eulogy. He talked about Lily's kindness, about her interest in others, about her quiet devotion to her parish. He sounded calm but not indifferent; a fact the dark-haired woman found herself pleased with.<p>

When he invited everyone to rise and join the funeral procession, she and Rick stood up along with the rest. They waited for a minute, the rows in the front being the first to empty, and the writer noticed a strong-looking, broad-shouldered man with a tug of blonde hair who was discreetly waving at his partner.

"That guy is trying to attract your attention," he murmured, nodding in that direction. Beckett half-turned and a genuine smile appeared on her lips.

"That's Teddy," she said, affection unmistakable in her voice.

"Your favorite cousin, right?" he asked, but she was too intent on watching Teddy (a name which, considering the man's looks, sounded a little ridiculous) make his way towards them to answer.

As soon as he reached them, the blonde-haired giant wrapped Kate into an embrace and growled, "Hey, stranger," as a wide grin spread over his face. He looked genuinely happy to see her, and Castle took an instant liking to the guy.

"Teddy," Beckett said when he finally released her. "It's been way too long."

"Don't tell me about it. Weren't you supposed to come to Buffalo like, three years ago?"

She guiltily pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and the man laughed.

"Oh, Katie, don't blame yourself. You'll get to meet your new little cousin today, anyway."

Castle, who was listening shamelessly, watched as Kate's green eyes lit up.

"Oh, that's right. Where is she?"

Teddy answered proudly, "Allison's outside with her. We didn't want her to start crying in the church."

He turned to Rick, meeting his eyes squarely and extending a hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude here. I'm Theodore Williams, Rose's son. And I'm guessing you must be the famous Richard Castle."

The writer smiled back, wondering at the back of his mind what Kate had told this man about him. They shook hands, each taking the measure of the other, not altogether displeased with their first estimations.

"Guys, we should go," Beckett said, interrupting their staring contest. "Procession's moving."

An outsider might have found funny the way those two tall, confident men instantly acted on the words of the willowy woman standing between them. It felt so natural to Teddy and Rick, though, that they didn't even notice.

* * *

><p>Richard Castle got his first clear view of Victoria Fields as she stood in front of her daughter's grave, watching as the coffin was deposited in the ground. He was standing at the back of the crowd, right behind Kate, but he was tall enough for that not to be an issue.<p>

There could be no doubt in his mind that the woman was Kate's grandmother. Her posture was graceful, her back straight, her chin held high. She wasn't quite as tall as Beckett, but she was still surprisingly so considering her age. Her features, on the other hand, were strikingly similar to the detective's. Time had not managed to harm the harmonious lines, only stretching the clear skin over what was clearly an amazing bone structure.

The uncanny impression that he was facing an older version of his partner, however, was shaken by the blue eyes that were most definitely unlike Kate's, whether it was in colour, shape, or expression. She didn't look cold, exactly. The writer studied her face, trying to find the right words. There was steely determination there, and some haughtiness, too. But if he had to guess what was the emotion that caused her jaw to clench imperceptibly…_Pain_, that's what he would have said.

His heart went to her, because he couldn't fight the feelings that her resemblance with the woman he loved sprouted inside of him, and because he couldn't imagine how she felt, standing at her third daughter's grave.

As if in reaction to his thoughts, her eyes landed on him for the briefest moment. He stood tall under her scrutiny, and gave her a little nod along with a light smile. She didn't acknowledge him in any way, but he thought, as she turned back to the minister, that her gaze had softened imperceptibly. Then again, maybe it was just his imagination.

* * *

><p>Abby had been weeping during the whole ceremony.<p>

Kate was painfully aware of that. As they started to throw handfuls of earth on the coffin, however, the young woman's sobs increased in volume. There were a few other people crying among the assembly, but they were so quiet that it only emphasized Abby's emotional outburst. Paul had his arm around his sister and was obviously trying to comfort her, but to no avail.

So far, Beckett had managed to avoid tears of her own, which she was grateful for. She gritted her teeth. She did not need, did not want to be reminded of what it felt like to be in that position. To be the deceased's daughter. To be motherless. She may have handled it more calmly than Abby at the time, but she did not derive any satisfaction from it. Her cousin's obvious grief got to Beckett, seeped into her bones, made it impossible for her to keep her cool.

Utterly uncomfortable, the detective closed her eyes, trying to keep her emotion in check.

As if on cue, a warm hand gently came to rest at the small of her back, and she didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to. The contact made a little easier to breathe, a little easier to blink back the tears. His touch gave her strength and solace, and Kate stood straighter, her chin lifting imperceptibly. A quiet peace flooded her body as earth recovered, inch by inch, her aunt's final resting place.

The leaves of the trees nearby rustled softly as the wind played with them, and Beckett took notice of it – took notice of the timid rays of sun trying to warm up the air, of the surrounding smell of fresh-cut grass. It wasn't much, and it didn't last long – but it was just what she needed, and it was Castle's doing entirely.

Her left hand blindly reached for Rick's; she found it and squeezed it gently, unable to find a better way to thank him. The squeeze back that she got told her she didn't need to look for one.


	7. Mending Fences

**A/N: **I don't think I've ever updated on Castle day before :) so hopefully, this'll help you all to wait patiently for next episode! In any case, you'll notice that all of your nice comments resulted in a quicker update (not that I'm hinting or anything). Thanks very much for those, by the way. Since most of you told me that I had better not apologize again for lengthy chapters, I won't say a word about the monster this chapter has grown into. Hope you'll enjoy it though!

**Disclaimer: Castle isn't mine, I'm just borrowing these lovely characters for a bit of fun!  
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* * *

><p>When the ceremony was over, most people scattered away; either they were eager to flee the depressing atmosphere or they were getting hungry and impatient for food. Kate didn't care to know which way it was; <em>she<em> had other stops she wanted to make. Rick trailed behind her as she squat down and put one of the roses she had saved on her grandfather's grave.

Beckett walked to the next tombstone, brushed a soft kiss against the petals of the remaining rose, and gently rested it against the name formed by the engraved letters. _Polly Fields, 1963-1968. Beloved daughter and sister._

Castle had his eyes fastened on his dark-haired partner, but none of the words on his mind seemed good enough to be spoken.

"My mother would always come here at least once when we stayed in Whitesboro," she said, and he could tell from the strain in her voice that she was trying to rein everything in, and not quite succeeding. "She didn't always bring me, but I knew."

Kate slowly came back to a standing position, her gaze still fixed on the stone.

"Do you know, that when my mom died – my grandmother made a fuss at the funeral, arguing that she should have been buried here, where she 'belonged'?"

She shook her head, letting out a small, mirthless laugh.

"Who does that, Castle? Who argues over their dead daughter's body about their final resting place? What does it even _matter_?"

He opened his mouth to say, _Everybody handles grief in their own way,_ but then he realized when she turned to him that she was not looking for explanations or commonplace statements. Rick couldn't tell what it was she needed, and he wanted more than anything to hug her and keep the world from ever hurting her again. Instead of making a fool of himself by saying so, he asked:

"What happened that summer? What was it that made you leave and not come back until now?"

Beckett let out a shaky breath, looked down at her feet. For a moment he thought that she wasn't going to answer; that she would just say, "Let's go, Castle" and leave it at that. And then she spoke.

"It was the worst summer of my life. No big revelation there. Teddy was in France on an exchange program. I spent… I spent a lot of time talking to Mark, which my grandmother deemed utterly inappropriate. So the rest of the time I spent holed up in my room, reading – novels."

_Your novels. _Kate wasn't sure she was ready for him to know that.

"One morning, I came down the stairs and they were in the kitchen, talking. My grandmother and Rose. Lily was there, too, but I didn't know at first, because I didn't show myself. They were saying that…" She paused, smiled – a painful smile that didn't reach her eyes. "That my mom had it coming, moving to the big city, thinking she was important, that she could change things. That really, it was her own fault she was dead – she had been asking for it."

Beckett pressed her lips together, and Rick couldn't help wondering at her self-control. Yes, she was breathing a little faster than usual, and maybe there was a slightly higher pitch to her voice, too – but she sounded so…collected. It was breaking his heart just to listen to her.

"Then they started talking about the show I was _putting on_, acting like this was the end of my life. It… wasn't pretty. At that point Lily said something on a completely different matter, and that was the first time I heard her voice."

"Well at least she didn't say anything bad about your mom, right?" the writer asked, desperate for a silver lining.

Kate's brow furrowed, and she met his eyes stubbornly.

"But that's the thing, Castle. She was sitting there all along. Lily was my mom's favorite, the only one she really got along with. And she sat there, listening to that load of _complete _crap, and she never said _anything. _Not a word."

Hurt and anger poured through her speech; the wound had not quite healed yet. If it ever would.

"I didn't even want to confront them about it. I went back to my room, and later that day, I picked a fight with my grandmother. It ended up with her telling me to leave and never come back, and me answering I had no problem with that whatsoever."

She focused for an instant on what her right foot was doing – there was a stone half-buried in the otherwise even ground and she had been unconsciously trying to dig it up, though her shoes were all but appropriate.

"That was the last time I spoke to any of them," she finished when she got the stone out. "Until today. Teddy and I call each other fairly often, and he tells me how everyone's doing. I spoke to Abby on the phone a couple times, too."

"Do you think it was Lily asking her to make those calls?"

A small smile played on Kate's lips – he always picked up on the things she left unsaid, didn't he?

"Probably."

Castle wanted to ask more questions, but he could see that she was getting restless – she was going to draw back any minute now.

"So, I guess you have the whole story now," Beckett said, arching her eyebrows and obviously attempting to distance herself from her unplanned tale-spinning.

"Come here," Rick murmured, taking a step forward and gesturing for her to do the same. He couldn't think of any other way to comfort her; words wouldn't get past his tight throat, wouldn't express how much his heart ached for her, how he would do anything to make this go away.

But of course, this was Beckett he was talking to. She stiffened, gave him a doubtful look. She didn't move, however, which he took as a good sign. _He _did move – closer.

"Castle, what are you –"

Before she had time to act on the panic he saw in her eyes, time to think, time to push him away, he carefully closed the space between them and wrapped her in an embrace. Then he closed his eyes and waited to find out which way he would die.

Kate wasn't sure how it happened, or why she didn't prevent it from happening. But she found herself pressed against the warm chest of her partner, surrounded by his strong arms, the smell that was _him_, and she was utterly unable to move. After what felt like ages but was really just a couple of seconds, she allowed her body to relax and, in a slightly awkward manner, she circled his waist with her arms.

It was nice.

She closed her eyes, nestled her face in the crook of his neck, and let the tension and the pain flow out of her. A small smile tugged at her lips, and Castle asked in a soft voice (making her wonder if he had eyes at the back of his head), "Feeling better yet?"

She did, but it would be absolutely no fun to let him know. She moved her face a little in order to answer, unwilling to let go of him completely.

"You're just asking 'cause you want to brag about your natural gift for hugging."

She could hear the grin in his voice when he spoke.

"Always assuming the worse of me, aren't you?"

"You get more chances to surprise me this way."

He laughed, and as nice as the embrace was, it was too much for Kate to feel the deep vibrations of his chest, to hear the soft sounds of his mirth at such close range. She stepped back, uncomfortable with her body's reaction, unwilling for him to find out what was going on.

"We should get moving. We've got a luncheon to go to."

"You do know you don't _have_ to go if you don't want to, right?" he said, easily falling into step with her, used as he was to her quick strides.

"Nice try, Castle. But see, the downside to hugging is, I could hear your stomach grumbling. And besides, I can tell you're dying to see my family and make your own opinion."

"My stomach doesn't _grumble_, detective. It signals a lack of edible content in its own musical way. And well, the last part may be true. But it still doesn't mean we have to go."

She flashed him an open, honest-to-God smile that made him want to kiss her.

"Worried about me, aren't you? Haven't you learned, in all those years, that I'm tougher than I look, Castle? Because if not, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to fire you – means you don't have the detecting skills to work with me."

"And how exactly do you intend to 'fire' me?"

Beckett could see his smug grin from the corner of her eye. He thought he was so smart, didn't he? Because he didn't actually _work_ at the precinct (and to be honest, even if he did, she didn't the power to fire anyone).

"Oh, you know. Call your daughter, ask her to ask you to quit…something like that."

The lines of his face quickly rearranged themselves into a horrified expression.

"That's…" he paused, fishing for words that would carry the right amount of despair.

"Evil?" Kate offered good-humoredly. "You already called me that yesterday, Castle. You know, we really should buy you a dictionary. Expand your vocabulary and all that."

His jaw nearly hit the floor, not so much from horror now than from shock and genuine indignation. How dare she suggest..? He was a writer – a wordsmith – a believer in the power of the English language –

"And if you don't want to catch flies, now would be a good time to close your mouth," she said, delivering the final blow with the most innocent expression on her face. But there was laughter bubbling in her voice, and it disarmed whatever defense he was about to make for himself.

"Oh, Detective Beckett, you don't want to know how many words other than evil I could find to describe you," he muttered instead with his charming, close-lipped smile.

She heard, and turned back to him with a challenging edge to her stance.

"Really, Castle? 'Cause extraordinary only counts as one."

Kate didn't even know why she had said that – the pleasure of bantering with him had overcome her usual caution. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she was treading a thin line. She did not actually want him to start sweet-talking her (wasn't sure she could handle that at this point, in fact) and, catching a glimpse of amusement and something else in his eyes, she made a sharp turn, heading for the church and hoping that he would drop it.

Fat chance. He caught up with her faster than she had expected, his two hands closing on her upper arms, forcing her to stop. She could feel him standing at her back, too close and not close enough, and his warm breathing on her neck made her close her eyes for the briefest moment.

"Smart," he whispered in her ear, so fervently as to compel her to listen even if she hadn't wanted to. "Beautiful. Stubborn as hell. Brave… Unrelenting. Demanding. Smoking hot." (She could hear the smile in his voice, and she felt one tug irresistibly at her lips in response). "Incredibly well-read. Driven. Compassionate. Strong. Caring. Intensely private. Quick-witted. Fun-loving, even though you hide it well. Fascinating…Are those words enough for you, Beckett? Because I can keep going all day long."

Kate realized she was in dire need of oxygen, and she sucked in a deep breath. Then she swallowed.

"There's Teddy waiting for us over there."

Her voice was low, but steady as she gave a tiny nod in the direction of the church. Castle let go of her, but the immediate relief she felt was undermined by the disappointment she saw on his face, when she dared look up at him.

A wave of guilt washed over Beckett. Here he was, trying to help in every way he could think of, being more supportive than she would ever have expected, and she couldn't even find it in herself to give his soft-spoken confession the response it deserved?

_Brave_, he had said. Maybe he was wrong.

"Castle, I –"

"It's okay."

Rick now longer looked disappointed, only determined. He gave her a faint smile, and she felt a surge of irrational anger at his eagerness to provide her with a way out, at his unwillingness to push her, now, of all times.

"We're fine, Kate," he repeated, a little too insistant. "Let's go and meet Teddy's baby."

And he started walking again, leaving her no choice but to follow quietly, her heart a jumble, and her head in no better state.

* * *

><p>He was a goddamn <em>idiot.<em> What on earth had possessed him? He had never been able to resist a challenge in his life, much less when said challenge was issued by a certain detective. But still, he should have known better. It wasn't that he didn't mean every word - he did, several times over. But really, he might as well have said outright that he loved her. _Subtle, Castle, _he thought, annoyed at himself. _Real, real subtle._ And in the graveyard where her grandfather and two of her aunts were buried, too. Talk about a romantic setting. _Well, you two did meet over a dead body, after all. Doesn't it make sense that you'd hook up when surrounded by dead bodies? _Rick silenced the ironic little voice in his head. What was done was done, anyway.

The baby – a six-month-old little girl named Lucy, with her father's blond hair and her mother's light brown eyes – made for a good distraction. The writer's blue eyes crinkled as his mind happily traveled back to the days of Alexis's early childhood, and Kate complimented Allison over her beautiful daughter. The two women didn't know each other very well, having only met once before, and Beckett had to admit she was curious to know how this slim, petite woman, with her calm demeanor and shy smile, had managed to ensnare the loud, demonstrative Teddy.

"So," she said, turning to her cousin with a teasing glance, "were you waiting for me because you're scared to go into our lovely grandmother's house by yourself?"

"Hell yeah," he shot back smoothly. "I need to know I've got at least one ally in there. One who isn't my wonderful wife, I mean," he added with a warm smile to Allison.

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic? Your sisters are going to be there, aren't they?"

"Actually, Claire isn't," Teddy answered, his eyes darkening, his voice tight. "She had some very _important _meeting at work that she couldn't miss, you see. But her husband is bringing the kids."

"Ted…"

"Don't, Kate. This only serves to show what Claire's priorities are. Margaret is here, though."

"Could you possibly sound any less enthusiastic?" the detective asked, amused despite herself.

"Oh, come on. You know how I feel about my sisters. Hell, I talk to you more often than I talk to them."

They both fell silent for a minute, dwelling on the strange family dynamics that were theirs. Allison was saying something nice about Rick's books, Kate noticed, when Teddy forced a smile back on his face.

"Anyway, we should go. Emily asked us if we could buy some extra soft drinks on the way, but I wanted to show you Lucy first."

He beamed proudly at her, and Beckett grinned back.

"I'm glad you did. She's gorgeous, Ted," she assured him. "We'll see you over there, then?"

"You bet."

They parted ways, having parked on different streets, and Kate glanced sideways at her partner, hiding a smile.

"Aren't you going to tell me how nice Allison is? I think I heard her complimenting your books."

"You really think I'm that shallow, don't you?"

She wisely kept silent, though in truth she felt that there was nothing wrong in accepting well-deserved words of praise. Castle gave her a lopsided grin, obviously unhurt.

"Well, if you want to know, Allison _does _seem like a nice person, but it's not because she liked my books. It's because of how she told me."

Beckett arched an eyebrow as she unlocked the door to her car, truly intrigued.

"See, in my line of work, I meet many people who disdainfully dismiss my writing as pulp fiction. Then there are those who profess undying love for my work, but prove themselves unable to quote their favorite title. It's not that often that I get to meet the in-between, you know – normal people who just say, 'I liked this book'. I'm not usually the greatest advocate for measure, but in that case… It's kind of nice."

Rick fastened his seatbelt and turned to his partner, who was watching him with a soft smile on her face.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head lightly and turning on the ignition.

If Richard Castle's objective during these two days was to prove how good a man he really was, she thought, he was doing a damn fine job. Not that she needed much proof, anyway.

* * *

><p>"Jeez, Beckett!"<p>

The writer whistled in admiration when they reached her grandmother's house. He wasn't sure the word _house _was appropriate – was that a tower on the left side?

"Oh, yeah," Kate shrugged, unfazed. "People in town call it the Mansion. I guess you can see why."

"Shall we?" he said, offering an arm and a smile when he had reined his surprise in.

She hesitated for a second, and Rick had a sudden access of panic – he had overdone it, she didn't want him there anymore, she was going to tell him she'd take over from here…

"Before I forget, or before you do something to make me change my mind, I just – wanted to say thanks, Castle."

Not what he expected. Unsettled by his silence, Beckett turned her eyes to the house, burying her hands in her pockets.

"You don't have to thank me," he said eventually, when he remembered how to work lips and throat and vocal cords.

"I do."

Her green eyes met his squarely, calm, confident.

"You offered to come without having the smallest idea what you were getting yourself into, and you've managed to keep me from thinking too much, and… You're doing this back-up thing pretty well, you know."

A smile slowly spread on the writer's face, and he wordlessly extended a hand to her. Kate took it without an ounce of hesitation.

"I'd say _always_," he answered in a low, husky voice, "but I'd start sounding like a broken record, don't you think?"

She smiled, and it was everything he could have wished for.

A minute later, they stood at the solid oak door, and the detective took a deep breath.

"Showtime," she muttered, reaching for the gilded bell push.

* * *

><p>Castle had seen his share of fancy houses during the years he had spent partying among New York City's wealthiest (and shallowest), but he was still impressed at the size of the living-room, that could probably host a hundred people standing. The crystal chandeliers set the tone, and the deep red drapes did the rest, along with the elegant furniture and the French windows. It wasn't quite Rick's style, but he had to admit that taste was not wanting.<p>

Rose, who had come to answer the door, hung their coats in a large closet and left them to mingle with the other visitors.

Two buffets had been set up on opposite sides of the space, and about thirty people were gathered in small groups, chatting quietly. Kate steered him through the room, smiling, shaking hands and offering condolences at regular intervals. Victoria Fields was nowhere to be seen, and the dark-haired detective couldn't decide how she felt about that.

She helped herself to a paper plate, thinking that picking food would provide an appropriate distraction. It didn't really, so she turned back to Castle, only to find him with his iPhone out, taking…pictures?

"What are you doing, Rick?"

(In public, she was sticking to their first-name basis, even though his name felt foreign in her mouth. It wasn't unpleasant – merely had an exotic ring to it).

"Uh, Ryan was looking for ideas of food presentation – apparently, Jenny wants them to split wedding chores, poor guy – and those appetizers look absolutely lovely, so I thought I'd show him –"

He frowned, clearly unhappy with the image presented by his phone, and moved his hands, tilting his head to get a better view. He had not spared a glance for Beckett, and she leaned against the wall, feeling unnecessary to fight the smile settling on her lips.

Castle took another picture, let out a satisfied exclamation and quickly moved his thumb over the screen, no doubt doing the required manipulation to send the desired object to the aforementioned blue-eyed detective.

Then the writer realized he had an audience, and he looked up at Kate.

"What?" he asked, adorably clueless.

Beckett watched him for a moment longer, enjoyed the way he started to squirm.

"So, just to be clear," she finally said, taking pity on him, "you're taking pictures of the food at a luncheon you're not supposed to be at, in a town you're not supposed to have ever set foot in, and sending them to our friends, who also happen to be rather competent _detectives_?"

He gaped, looking a little dumb.

"I…only sent them to Ryan?"

His voice came out more high-pitched than he had intended, and his partner gave him a pointed look that said, _Don't you know better? _

"That may not have been my brightest moment," he reluctantly owned. "But hey," he cheered up suddenly, "if they ask, I can just say I'm at a meeting with my publisher, and that's the food we've been served!"

"You'd better have them believe you, because in any case… _You_'ll be the one doing the explaining."

Castle was about to answer when someone burst into tears on the other side of the room. They turned together towards the source of the noise, to find out it was Abby. Kate's heart tightened as she watched the young woman rush out, and she was wrestling with herself to decide if she should go after her when a voice on her right said, "Oh for God's sake, we got it. You're in pain. Now can you stop _wailing _and get it under control?"

_Emily._

Beckett felt anger swelling inside her, and she turned to her cousin – but Castle was there already. The two of them were the only ones close enough to have heard Emily's hushed, ironic comment. The writer gave a cordial smile to the thin woman, and said nonchalantly:

"You know, you might want to show a little more feeling at your mother's funeral, just so people in here don't start doubting the existence of your soul or anything."

She glared daggers at him, but Rick only lifted his plate in response, unruffled.

"Snacks?"

Emily gave him a confused, angry look, and she fled. And in spite of the circumstances, in spite of the setting and of her earlier indignation, Kate actually had to bite her lip, hard, to keep herself from laughing.

* * *

><p>Teddy and Allison showed up moments later, having left their daughter to take a nap in the guestroom. The four of them fell into an easy conversation which only came to a halt when Rick offered to provide them all with drinks. The suggestion being met with unanimous approbation, he left Beckett's side and made his way to the buffet.<p>

He was pouring Coke into a glass when a voice in his back said, "I do not believe we have been introduced".

Castle jumped. By some miracle he managed to not drop the glass and thus avoid a complete disaster, but he still had to reach for a napkin and pad the fabric under the plastic bottle before he could turn around. Feeling like a complete klutz, he met the assessing eyes of Kate's grandmother. _Oh, wonderful._

"I am Victoria Fields, mother of the deceased," she said calmly, as if she hadn't just witnessed his making a fool of himself. She extended a long-fingered, graceful hand that the writer took delicately.

"Richard Castle. I'm a friend of – "

"Katherine," she cut him short, still studying him. "I saw you come in with her."

She bobbed her head, and once again, Castle found himself fighting the feelings that this spooky resemblance sprung within him. Why had Kate not warned him? Perhaps, being the first concerned, she did not realize how strong the likeness was. Yes, Victoria looked every bit as proud as he had pictured her when listening to her granddaughter, but there was also a great deal of reserve in her stance, and quick intelligence shining in her large eyes. In truth, he could not help liking her – she reminded him so much of Beckett.

"Do you know, Mr. Castle, how long it has been since I last saw my granddaughter?"

He had a feeling that now was not the time to crack up a joke by asking, "which one?" (That didn't mean he wasn't thoroughly tempted).

"Yes. She told me that it's been almost twelve years," was his sober reply.

The older woman nodded slowly, and something akin to regret crossed her face. She spied the surprised movement that Rick gave in response, and a bitter smile played on her lips.

"I suppose she has told you all kinds of horrible things about me."

"Well," the writer tempered, remembering Kate's silences, "she did tell me that she and you fought a number of times, yes."

He considered saying more. The woman's pale blue eyes were staring thoughtfully at the table, and her right hand played absentmindedly with the golden chain she wore around her neck.

"Yes, we did fight," she finally let out, raising her gaze to meet Rick's. "Katherine and I have…very different views about things. Unfortunately, I believe, our temperaments are too similar for either one of us to give way to the other."

Rick found this hard to believe, considering what Kate had told him. But the woman was not done speaking, he could feel, and he did not want to interrupt. A surprising, genuine smile curved Victoria's mouth, making her look ten years younger.

"In fact, I was too stubborn to admit as much, until recently. Someone told me that only fools are afraid to change their minds. A French saying, it would seem."

She looked at the writer, narrowing her eyes.

"I am not quite certain why I am telling you this."

Castle gave her his lopsided smile – that one seemed to work on Kate – and gave her an attempt at an answer.

"Maybe because I'm a stranger, and since you don't know me, I'm bound not to have any set ideas about who you are, or how you would behave. Then again, maybe it's just because of my irresistible good looks and dazzling personality."

The last phrase was a bit of a risk. He didn't know Victoria Fields well enough to anticipate her reaction, but he had a feeling that there was a real human being behind the well-groomed, polished façade. And he was also a little tired of all the seriousness.

The white-haired woman's eyes widened slightly, but after a second the corner of her mouth went up, and she chuckled.

"Well, surely it must be so. Thank you for enlightening me, Mr. Castle."

The writer grinned at her unexpected comeback.

"You're very welcome. But please, call me Richard."

He was quite sure that "Rick" would be deemed too familiar, but maybe she would not mind using his first name. "Mr. Castle", when it didn't came from a crazed fan, definitely made him feel way too old.

"I will consider it."

Her clear gaze rested on him a little longer, a flicker of interest and amusement dancing in there. Then she seemed to make a decision, and asked in a lower voice:

"So, tell me. How is Katherine doing?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" he suggested.

He had made sure his tone was gentle and friendly enough to avoid her taking offense at the words, but her brow furrowed as she considered his words. Clearly, Victoria Fields was not accustomed to people resisting her, or refusing to give her what she wanted. She pursed her lips and gave him a hard look. He held his ground bravely, staring back and keeping an even face, and in the end her expression changed.

"I shall do just that."

Her eyes fixed on something – someone – past his shoulder, and the writer was not altogether surprised to find Kate standing next to him a second later.

"Everything okay, Rick?" she asked, and his well-trained ear detected a hint of anxiety in her voice.

"Everything's fine," he answered, meeting her gaze with a reassuring smile.

"Hello, Katherine," her grandmother greeted quietly.

"Hi," the detective replied guardedly.

There was a brief silence as they looked at each other warily, before the white-haired woman asked, "Are you well?"

"I'm alright, thanks."

Everything in Kate screamed reserve, from the careful neutrality on her face to the way she stood, refusing to fully face her relative. Victoria seemed to hesitate, then let out a little sigh.

"Will you come with me?" she asked, nodding towards the stairs. "I have something for you."

Beckett pressed her lips together, intercepted the interrogative look in Castle's eyes and gave him a faint smile that said, _I'll be fine_. She rested a hand on his arm, whispered "I won't be long" and followed her grandmother upstairs.

She couldn't help but notice that Victoria's step, though ever graceful, was slower and less assured than in her memories. Twelve years was a long time, Kate thought, and a twinge of guilt went through her. It was gone in a heartbeat.

She was surprised when her grandmother turned right into the first room at the end of the staircase. This was Victoria's bedroom, and it was forbidden territory. Beckett had never been inside – but when she and her cousins were younger, the space fascinated them. How many secret missions had they been on, to try and get a peek into this most secret of places? And in truth, there had been times when they'd had the opportunity to go inside. Their grandmother's aura of power and authority had been enough, however, to make them pause and give up.

As a teenager, Kate had understood the need for privacy, even if it seemed unusually powerful in Victoria. And as a young adult, she had simply lost interest, ascribing this eccentricity to her grandmother's wish to have people wondering about her.

"Come in," the older woman said, bringing the detective's thoughts to a halt.

Her granddaughter obeyed; the ten-year-old inside her feeling a thrill of trepidation as she crossed that long-forbidden threshold.

The room was spacious, though not overly large. There were tea rose curtains that filtered the light coming in from the windows, creating a comfortable atmosphere. A canopy bed stood on the left, next to a small bookshelf. On the other side, the space was occupied by an old-fashioned writing desk and a large, wooden closet. Beckett's eyes roamed over the walls, surprised to find only a small-sized painting of a landscape, and a family picture hanging on the opposite wall. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but this wasn't it.

"I went through all of the old photo albums for Abby and the others," Victoria said in a low voice. "I thought they would enjoy having Lily's childhood pictures, so I went to the photographer, had copies made."

Kate kept silent, curious to know where this was going. Her grandmother reached for a thick album that rested on her desk, and her thin, long-fingered hands clenched over the edge.

"And then I realized that…I hadn't done anything of the sort for you. I was going through those albums anyway, so –"

Victoria's eyes were fixed on the object as she offered it to Kate, whose breathing caught in her throat.

"This is for you, Katherine."

Beckett's brain couldn't quite make out what was going on, but her hands seemed to have a will of their own as they came up and received the heavy, leather-bound album. She was suddenly glad for the dim light of the bedroom – maybe her grandmother would not see the imperceptible shaking of her fingers as she delicately lifted the cover.

The first picture was one she was familiar with; her mother sleeping in her crib, a few hours old maybe, tufts of dark hair standing in opposite directions. The second one was of Samuel Fields, holding his daughter like she was the most precious thing in the whole world. On the third one, a three-year-old Rose looked at her baby sister with great curiosity, and Victoria's gaze was on the two girls, a soft smile tugging at her lips – a smile Kate did not remember ever seeing on her face.

The dark-haired detective snapped the album shut. Her control faltered, but she fought the unexpected rush of emotion she felt, and fiercely. _This doesn't make up for everything else,_ the rational part of her brain told her firmly – but it didn't really help, since the rest of her only wanted to open the album again and drink in the pictures.

They weren't all new – Johanna had had pictures like these at the apartment – but considering the thickness of the album, there were probably plenty in there that Kate had never seen. Or at least, hadn't seen in the last ten years. Chewing on her lower lip, Beckett raised her green eyes to her grandmother. Victoria was studying her carefully, and there was a feeling akin to anxiety in her clear gaze. Sure, it was hidden behind pride, but Kate saw it, and it did unexpected things to her heart.

She stepped forward, and her hand rose and secured a hold of her grandmother's. Her family didn't do hugging, and even the small contact seemed to startle the older woman; but after a minute Victoria's hand gently squeezed back.

"Thank you," Kate said, and her voice didn't sound like her own.

After a moment, she let go, and she was headed for the door – clutching the album to her chest – when her grandmother's words stopped her.

"Wait."

She turned back, masking her surprise with the well-practiced ease of habit. Victoria's face was neutral as ever, but her eyes reflected the struggle she was going through. She seemed determined, however, as she looked intensely at Kate.

"I loved your mother," she whispered in a tight voice. "I loved all my daughters – I just…wasn't very good at showing or telling them. When Johanna left, it felt like she was rejecting me, Katherine. I didn't want to understand. I pretended I didn't care. And when she died –"

Her jaw clenched, and she shook her head in anger. Kate didn't dare to breathe.

"I was so angry. She left me no chance of mending fences, of explaining. She just died. And I let myself be angry, because it was easier to deal with than grief. Much easier. You see, being angry kept me from blaming myself, kept me from thinking that I would never have a chance to do right by your mother."

The words came out rushed and unimpeded now, in a hurried flow so unlike Victoria that it made Beckett's head spin just to think about them.

"I know it's too late to be saying those things, and you probably don't care to hear them, and I'll never get to ask Johanna for her forgiveness. But – I loved her, and I thought you should know that."

There was still haughtiness and stubborn reserve in the older woman's pursed lips, in the stiff way she held her shoulders; but there were also unshed tears in her blue orbs, and a trembling around her mouth. She was trying. She was trying so hard that Kate would have been afraid to see her break, had she not known what formidable strength her grandmother hid within that frail body of hers.

The young woman took a step forward. And another. And another. If Victoria Fields could overcome her proverbial coldness, Beckett thought, the least she could do was acknowledge her effort.

"I'm sorry about Lily," she rasped, and she was the first surprised by her words.

The older woman started as if she had been stung by an invisible dagger, and lifted her chin. Then her eyes met Kate's, and they softened a little. She gave a curt little nod.

"And I think Mom knew," the detective went on before she could change her mind. "I think she knew how you felt, or at least had an idea. She kept coming back here every summer, didn't she?"

Victoria's eyebrows arched slightly, and her gaze drifted into space. There was a small shift in her posture, as if the burden she was carrying had been lightened somehow. Kate couldn't bring herself to say more, and she quietly made her way out of the room.

"Thank you, Katherine," a not-quite-unwavering voice told her as she stepped outside the door.

Beckett paused, her hand on the doorknob.

"Thank you for the album," she replied softly.


	8. Breathing Space

**A/N: **So, I'm not fully satisfied with this chapter, which is why I've delayed posting it... And besides, my wonderful beta has gone on a trip to Israel, which means I don't have a second opinion. But I did tell most of you that I would post this before the finale, so here it goes. All mistakes are mine, so feel free to let me know if you catch some. Hope you'll enjoy it :).

Also, I'm trying to figure out what ringtone Castle could have associated to Ryan on his phone. Any suggestion is welcome.

**Disclaimer: Castle isn't mine - if it was, it would air _way_ more often.**

* * *

><p>Kate paused halfway down the stairs, and sat down on a step. Just for a minute, she told herself. She let her hand run over the brown leather cover of the album, a little disbelieving of what had happened upstairs. It wasn't that she didn't want to believe in her grandmother's change of heart. Or maybe 'materialization of a heart' was a more appropriate wording.<p>

No, Kate Beckett was afraid of just how much she wanted to believe in that new Victoria Fields, afraid of how eager she was to cling onto those words that, if they didn't make up for her past grief, at least gave it a reason and a meaning.

The detective let out a small, shaky breath, and wiped the moisture around her eyes in a surreptitious gesture. She didn't want to think about it now. She needed some space, some distance. Kate went to the closet where all the coats hung, found her purse, and stuffed the album inside as well as she could. It didn't quite fit, but the part that showed wasn't big enough to attract attention, in her opinion.

Satisfied, she closed the door and smoothed her dress before going back into the living-room. Coming from the quiet, intimate atmosphere in her grandmother's room, Kate had to get used again to the small crowd who was gathered downstairs, talking and drinking and eating.

Her eyes scanned the room for Castle before she even realized it, and it took her a few seconds to locate him. When she did, something tightened in her chest. He was leaning against the wall, in a corner on her left, and he was clearly being hit on by Sheila. There was a group of people standing between them and Kate, and she couldn't get a visual on the writer's face – but she could see her cousin's, her red lips forming what was probably supposed to be a sexy pout, her eyelashes batting every 0.2 second and failing to hide the coy look in her dark eyes.

Beckett's first instinct was to rush in there and tell Sheila to get lost. But a thought struck her before she even started to move: maybe Castle didn't want her to. After all, her cousin was an attractive woman, all curves and golden hair and smoky eyes; maybe the writer was having a good time. He did like blondes, she reflected, as the memory of Gina darted through her, sharp and painful. And he wasn't hers to claim.

Kate took a step back; at the same moment, the man who was standing between Castle and herself moved a little, and she found herself staring into pools of blue. Oh. So apparently he had been looking for her as well. And he didn't seem very interested in whatever Sheila was saying. She couldn't help the small smile she felt tugging at her lips and she strode towards the couple with newfound confidence.

"…do you do for a living?" her blond cousin was asking when the detective reached them. Beckett had to refrain from rolling her eyes. The woman had not even recognized Castle for the well-known writer that he was – she had merely smelled money when looking at his suit and shoes.

"Sheila," the dark-haired woman suggested in a sweet, deadly voice, "don't you think it would be nice to wait until the day _after_ your mother's funeral to start looking for a golden goose again?"

The expression on the gold-digger's face went rather comically from would-be sexiness to deep annoyance. She looked from Kate to Rick, from Rick to Kate, and gave up with a sigh.

"You were never very good at sharing, Katie," she dropped regretfully as she walked away.

Beckett stared after her, lips parted in disbelief and shock.

"She's quite the sensitive one, isn't she?" Castle whispered, amusement dancing in his voice. "It's hard to believe she and you are even remotely related."

Kate turned interrogative eyes to him. He was happy to oblige.

"She has clearly as much feeling as a goldfish – and I'm not even sure the comparison is fair to the fish – and absolutely no consideration for everyone else's, from what I've seen. She was after my money, and not being quite subtle about it either; and she doesn't seem very…bright."

Then he seemed to remember he was talking about Beckett's relative, and he added hastily, "I mean, no offence, I know she's your cousin and she's – nice – I mean…"

"Relax, Castle," his partner said gently. "It's not like Sheila is my best friend. Or my friend at all, actually."

Kate felt a little ridiculous now for the assumptions she had made upon seeing the two of them together. It became even worse when he replied with a smile – "You want to know what's incredibly unfair? You having so much class, and her having none at all."

The warm admiration in his blue eyes caused a blush to creep over her cheeks.

"Still thinking that flattery's the way to my heart, Rick?"

"_No. _But I was hoping honesty might be."

She chuckled, shaking her head briefly.

"Nice comeback, I must say."

"I thought so myself."

"And then you have to go and ruin it."

"Hey," Teddy interrupted with a smile. "Sorry I left you in Sheila's hands," he said to the writer. "Lucy woke up crying, and Ally and I are still having trouble not rushing to her side every time something is wrong."

He looked sheepish, but not apologetic.

"So Allison's still with her?" Kate asked.

"Yeah. She thought a walk in the garden might help to calm Lucy down."

The idea of fresh air shimmered in Beckett's mind, bright and appealing. Crowded rooms had never been quite her thing, and if she enjoyed her partner's company, the keen attention he always paid her was a bit much to handle at the moment.

"Maybe I'll join them for a bit," she mused.

The writer's blue eyes studied her meticulously – he had been a little worried by her trip upstairs with Victoria, and although she had emerged seemingly unscathed, he wouldn't have minded keeping an eye on her. But he knew Kate Beckett well enough to see that she was itching to get out of the house, and to get some time to herself.

"Unless you're scared to stay here without me, _Rick_," she added teasingly.

He took his first name for what it was – overt provocation – and smirked in return.

"Me, scared to socialize? Oh, Beckett, you've knocked at the wrong door."

"Fine then."

"Fine," he repeated emphatically.

"Teddy," she said, ignoring the quarrelsome look on Castle's face, "make sure he doesn't get himself in trouble, will you?"

Her cousin, who was watching the scene and enjoying every minute of it, gave a single nod.

"_Trouble_? What kind of trouble could I possibly –"

"See you later, Rick," Kate cut in, giving him a parting look halfway between coy and challenging.

It silenced him more effectively than a gag would have, and he watched her disappear with mixed feelings (the dominant one, strangely enough, was a need to push her against the wall and let his mouth feast on the much-too-appealing, clear, smooth skin of her neck).

"So," Teddy asked in a low voice, his head tilted with interest, "what exactly is going on between the two of you?"

"Nothing," Castle answered absentmindedly, out of habit. Then he caught the expression on the man's face and shrugged. "Or everything. Trust me, I wish I knew."

* * *

><p>Kate slid outside through the back door, a warm cup of coffee in one hand, and a slice of cake in the other - the latter was destined to Lucy's mom, because she couldn't remember seeing the woman eat anything previously.<p>

Allison had chosen to sit on a stone bench inside "The Maze". The Maze – which was not a maze, obviously, but merely a hedged-in, small space with an iron-wrought gate – was the only part of the garden children weren't allowed into. When Beckett was younger, the punishment for entering the Maze was no dessert for a week (and Victoria being the cook that she was, it was hard to take).

The rest of the space, however, was large enough to provide room for any game – apparently, hide-and-seek was still in fashion, Kate thought as she watched a swarm of children scatter among the trees and bushes. She had lost count of her cousins' progeny a while ago; at the time Emily was expecting her third child, Margaret had given birth to her second, and Claire had four already. At least (thank God) Sheila was childless, and Abby wasn't married yet. Otherwise, she would have felt even loneliner.

Carefully balancing the paper plate with the cake on top of her coffee cup, the dark-haired detective turned the slightly rusted iron handle that led into the Maze, and stepped onto the white gravel path. At the end of it was a small fountain, and the soft sounds of the running water had always seemed particularly calming to Kate. Her footsteps alerted Teddy's wife, who jumped a little but relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Kate," she greeted with a smile.

The baby in her arms only whined louder, and Allison whispered to her in gentle tones, obviously trying to soothe her. Beckett sat down next to them, and the red-haired woman explained anxiously, "She's very quiet usually; but she had to wake up early this morning – and I think the different setting and all these people…"

"Allison, there's no need to apologize," the detective interrupted. "Babies cry. I think we've all accepted that fact."

Teddy's wife laughed lightly, closing her eyes for an instant.

"You're right. Thanks. I was inside trying to calm her down, and Margaret looked at Lucy like she was the eleventh Egyptian plague, you know; and it – got on my nerves."

"Yeah," Kate agreed quietly. "This family is not exactly known for their kind and understanding nature."

Silence fell over them, only broken by the occasional squeal of a child playing in the garden and by Lucy's intermittent whimpering.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," Allison sighed at last. "She's eaten, and she's clean, and I don't understand why she won't go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to give it a try?" Beckett asked hesitantly.

If it had been her, she wasn't sure she would have been okay with letting a near stranger hold her baby; but on the other hand, she was not exactly a stranger, and the young woman in front of her looked as if she was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Allison's soft brown eyes widened slightly, and she looked at her daughter, undecided. Then she smiled timidly at the detective.

"Would you mind? I think she can feel I'm tense, and it's not helping."

Kate held out her arms in answer, and received with great care the warm, breathing bundle. She let out a shallow breath; it had been a while since she had last held a baby, and she had forgotten the sense of responsibility that came along with the tiny hands and feet, the soft skin, the vulnerable neck. Lucy went quiet, her big, honey-colored eyes taking in the change of scenery with curiosity.

"Hello, beautiful," Beckett cooed, unable to help herself. She ran a finger along the rosy cheek and smiled; the little girl mirrored her expression, easily conquered. She was even more adorable with that toothless grin on. Kate felt her heart melt, and she was glad to have left Castle inside.

"Wow, she likes you," Allison commented with some surprise. "I've never seen her so quick to smile."

"The feeling's mutual," Kate answered without taking her eyes off Lucy. The miniature fingers wrapped around her index, and she fought the absurd emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Looking back at her red-haired neighbour, Beckett said, "Oh, and if you're hungry, that slice of cake's for you. I don't think you had any earlier."

"Thank you. I didn't, and...it's really nice of you."

She took a grateful bite, and watched as her daughter yawned in Kate's arms. "It's funny, you know. Lucy wasn't…planned, and I completely freaked when I found out I was pregnant; Teddy was the one to keep it together, to tell me we could do this, that it was my life, my choice. I'm a child psychologist – I don't know if he told you?"

Beckett nodded, and Allison went on, "With the things I see everyday – from negligence to child abuse – sometimes I have trouble remembering the reasons why I would want to bring another human into this world."

"I can relate."

"Oh, that's right – you're a cop. I can't imagine what _that _is like."

"I get by," Kate eluded, unwilling to get into the gruesome details while the weight of the dozing baby rested gently against her chest.

Allison's smile was warm with understanding.

"People tend to think, when they see Teddy and I together, that I'm the rock and he's just this big kid fooling around – but it doesn't work like that. The truth is, I need someone to give me breathing space, someone who can show me how to take pleasure in simple things, who reminds me that it's okay to laugh and be loud sometimes. It's almost a job requirement. And Teddy does that for me."

The dark-haired detective was at once amused and a little scared at how similar this was to the way she felt. Allison mistook her silence for discomfort and blushed prettily.

"I'm sorry if it feels like I'm unburdening myself to you –"

"No," Kate protested, "No, not at all. I'm… We seem to have a lot in common," she admitted with a small smile.

"Really?" the younger woman looked pleased. "Is it like that with you and Rick?"

_Oh_. Beckett's cheeks went aflame (at least it felt that way) as she averted her gaze, desperate for an escape. She didn't mind being confided into, as long as _she_ didn't have to do the confiding part.

"I'm sorry," Allison said quickly, "I didn't mean to pry. That's none of my business – please, forget I even asked."

"No, it's just… It's fine, really," Kate replied, hating herself for stammering. Why didn't she just tell the woman that she and Castle weren't a couple? _Because you don't dislike the idea_, she realized in a blinding, dizzying moment of truth. Oh, this was _so_ not the time for this. Looking down at the baby in her lap for a distraction, she realized that Lucy was sound asleep.

"She's sleeping," her red-haired companion wondered, echoing Kate's thoughts with a smile in her voice. "So...how much do you charge for the hour?"

The detective laughed quietly, and gently delivered the little girl back into her mother's loving arms.

"Looks like we have company," Allison murmured, nodding towards the gate.

She was right; a young girl, aged nine or ten, was watching them, her nose stuck against the iron bars. She blushed a little under the two women's scrutiny, but didn't move.

"Hello," Beckett said tentatively.

"Hi," the girl whispered back. "Can I come in?"

The latch was too high for a child to reach it, so the detective stood up to let their little visitor in. She was a cute thing – a combination of freckles, dark eyes and fair hair.

"What's your name?" Kate asked kindly.

"Prudence."

_Prudence_. So that was Emily's eldest daughter. Beckett remembered perfectly getting the pink card announcing her birth, because she had rolled her eyes and wondered what was next – Faith? Hope? She was not exactly partial to what she called _allegorical names._ Wasn't the girl's fault, though.

"Hi, Prudence. I'm Kate."

"How did you know my grandma?" the girl asked bluntly.

It took a second for the dark-haired woman to realize that Prudence was, in fact, Lily's granddaughter.

"Uh, she was my aunt. I'm your mother's cousin," she replied, unsure that it would make sense to the child. Prudence frowned.

"Like Teddy?"

Well, she was a quick one.

"Yeah, exactly. Like Teddy."

"Then how come I've never seen you before?"

Now _that _was a good question.

"Why don't we sit on the bench?" Kate offered, buying herself some time.

The girl took a good look at her before agreeing gingerly. The sleeping baby in Allison's lap caused a smile to erupt on the serious little face; but once Beckett was seated, Prudence turned to her in a clear reminder that she still expected an answer to her question.

"You see," the detective said slowly, "I went on this very, very long journey. I left before you were born, and it took me all this time to come back here."

She was not exactly _lying_, she reasoned. It had been a journey. Of sorts. She was surprised that Emily hadn't warned her children against her, to be honest. Prudence looked thoughtful, as if she was turning Kate's answer in her head. Her next question somewhat came as a surprise.

"Did you see dolphins?"

The dark-haired woman almost laughed in surprise, but the girl's earnestness made her check herself.

"No," she replied truthfully, but then the disappointment in Prudence's dark eyes led her to think that truth was overrated. That child looked much too solemn for a ten-year-old, and Kate added quickly, "But I saw… pandas."

_Pandas, really? That's what you're going for? _A sneaky little voice asked at the back of her mind. But a smile broke through the child's face like a ray of sun in a cloudy sky, and suddenly it didn't matter so much that Beckett didn't know the first thing about pandas.

"What were they like?"

"Well, they were about your size, but much larger. And their fur was really fluffy and soft – they're not dangerous, you know, so you're allowed to touch them."

The girl was holding her breath, and Kate remembered exactly what that felt like. Her mother's face crossed her mind briefly, and she wondered what it was like for Prudence to grow up with Emily.

"Did you see a baby panda?"

"Uh, yeah."

At this point, it didn't make much difference if she said no, did it? She glanced at Allison, to find her trying not to smile.

"Did it have a name?"

"Ying-Ying," Beckett said before she had time to second-guess herself. At least Castle wasn't around to hear that; she had no doubt he would have been delighted to realize just how far under her skin he had gotten.

"Ying-Ying," Prudence echoed with a chuckle. "It's a bit ridiculous isn't it?"

On the other hand, Kate would have loved to see the writer's response to _that_.

"That's what I thought too," she replied with a wink.

A commotion nearby interrupted the panda-oriented conversation; apparently there had been a collision and a fall – they could hear a child crying.

"That's Henry," Prudence sighed. "I should go. Please don't tell my mom; I'm supposed to be watching over him."

A ten-year-old watching over her younger siblings, uh? Beckett had to pull her lower lip between her teeth to keep from commenting on Emily's parenting.

"I'll go with you," she offered instead.

"No, it's okay. I can take care of him."

The stubborn, defensive tone unsettled the detective, and she let the girl go. When she reached the gate, Prudence turned back to Kate.

"Will you still be here later?"

The question caught Beckett off guard.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Either here or inside the house, I guess."

The child nodded and then she was gone. Turning to Allison, the detective read the same perplexity as she felt on her face; but there was also a flicker of amusement in the soft brown eyes.

"Weren't you planning on leaving as soon as possible?" she asked in a neutral voice.

Kate wrinkled her nose.

"I guess I just changed my mind."

* * *

><p>Because no matter how she looked at it, she felt uncomfortable knowing Prudence was handling this on her own, Beckett went back inside to tell Emily of little Henry's cuts and bruises. She found her in the corridor, where the blue-eyed woman took the news without any visible fear or concern, and then considered Kate with something like amusement, causing a shiver to run down the detective's spine.<p>

"I don't know if you put your boyfriend up to it, but he's in there talking about your cop thing like it's a real job and everything. It's...cute," she said, her voice implying otherwise.

She left then, departing slowly like she was some sort of queen, and Beckett only realized how hard she had clenched her fists when her nails started digging into the skin of her palms. She felt cold. Numb with rage. She could hear Castle's voice in the background, and it would have been lying to say she did not feel a flicker of worry as she drew closer, focusing on his words.

He was talking about her. Or, more accurately, he was talking about Detective Beckett making a spectacular arrest (the story was slightly embellished, of course) and the chuckles and hushed comments around him seemed to indicate that he had quite an audience.

Kate took a hesitant step forward, trying to untangle her confused feelings. She wanted to see, and was afraid to at the same time, but her legs seemed to have a mind of their own as they carried her to the living-room's wide, open space.

The first thing her gaze fell on was Rick, and his hands up in the air as he illustrated his words with gestures, his blue eyes shining with the pleasure of story-telling. That, in itself, was nothing to be scared of – in fact, her heart warmed a little at the sight. Then her green orbs wandered to the men who stood in circle around him; mostly there were smiles on their faces, or at least mild interest. Kate's grandmother, a few feet away, was listening as well; she was facing the other way, but her eyes betrayed her attention.

From her observation point, however, Beckett could also see what Castle couldn't – the contemptuous expression on Rose's lips, which was mirrored by the condescending light in Margaret's eyes, and the embarrassment or the disgust on the faces of the women who crowded the buffet.

Kate suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. It was not a feeling she enjoyed in the least, and anger and defensiveness were quick to rise in its wake. A small part of her wondered at the fact that she hadn't already barged in to interrupt, considering how private she was; but barge in she did, and with the blandest face she could manage, she asked Rick for a moment of his time.

* * *

><p>After Kate had gone outside, Castle and Teddy started talking with the other men. The writer recognized George and Paul from the funeral, and he guessed the rest of them were the husbands of Victoria's granddaughters (the shy-looking man with square glasses and sagged shoulders, he guessed, was probably Emily's hubby, and his heart truly went to the poor guy). At first, everything went fine – Rick was a social butterfly who could adapt to any conversation, and he didn't have any problem mingling and talking about sports, or laughing at the dirty jokes George made (although, after the sixth one, the laughter came out a little forced).<p>

But then one of the guys (whose name was Ron, maybe) started wondering if Castle had been in the paper lately, because his face looked familiar. "Are you famous or something?" Ron (or was it Rod?) had asked good-humouredly. There was a pregnant pause, during which all eyes turned to Rick; and he would have _loved_ it if Kate had come in right that instant with her shining armour, to rescue him from her curious cousins (or at least, tell him what she wanted him to say). But there had been no timely rescue, and Castle, opting for the truth, had said he was a mystery writer, and named a few of Derrick Storm's most famous adventures.

He rather cleverly (if he said so himself) managed to avoid altogether talking about Nikki Heat by recounting the story of his and Kate's encounter (carefully leaving out the ride-along that had followed that first case), and was doing a recap of her most brilliant arrests – he had just reached "Go ahead, I need the practice" – when his tale's protagonist appeared in front of him.

Her face was neutral, which meant trouble, and her words ("Can I talk to you for a minute?") only confirmed his first impression.

Rick followed her into the kitchen, mentally establishing a defense strategy. He had done nothing wrong, really; he had adapted to the situation, and considering the circumstances, he felt that he had nothing to be blamed for. He hadn't said a word about Nikki or the ride-along –

"What are you doing?" Beckett asked, her voice sharp as a razor, as soon as the door was closed.

Rick couldn't tell what he had done wrong, and he would not go down without a fight.

"What, am I not allowed to talk to your family?"

"You can talk all you want," Kate snapped, unable to help herself. "Just not about me. What is this for you? A _game_? A distraction in the life of bored little Richard Castle?"

She was being unfair, and she knew it. He opened his mouth to object, but she wouldn't let him.

"They don't _know_ me, Castle. They don't know what being a cop is about. They think it's goddamn ridiculous. And what, you think by telling them a few anecdotes about my running down suspects in dark alleys, you're going to change that? Well you're _wrong_."

She paused to catch her breath, and the writer looked at her, eyebrows knit, trying to decide what exactly her reaction was all about.

"The women in there," she nodded towards the living-room, "they care about the color of their living-rooms' curtains, about getting their husband to buy them _that _golden bracelet… About throwing a more successful party than their neighbour. Having a job is distasteful to them. Being a cop? Even worse. They don't want to know what my life is about. So I don't tell them."

"How can you be so sure?" the writer asked, tilting his head. "How can you be so sure what they want or don't want?"

Her green eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and bitterness, and she stared back at him for a moment.

"When I told my cousins I was going to join the police, they laughed their asses off. Assumed it was a whim, that it would pass. Then when they saw I was serious about it, they started acting awkward around me, like – embarrassed. As if I had some sort of…disease, that they could catch."

It still stung, after all these years; and Beckett was pissed that it could get to her, when she clearly _knew _better, when she had gone all this way – made a life for herself and gained the respect of the cops she worked with.

And Rick was there, making for an easy target.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Castle. Especially the ones that aren't worth fighting at all. I –" she shook her head, angry at her own lack of control, and bit her lower lip. "I shouldn't have brought you here," she sighed, looking at the floor. "It's just like the precinct…"

The writer immediately understood that she hadn't meant for those words to come out; her eyes widened slightly at her mistake and she stopped breathing for a few seconds.

"What do you mean, "like the precinct"?"

Castle was surprised at the bite in his own voice. It rang harsh in the otherwise empty kitchen space, echoed on the walls in a way he hadn't expected. Beckett looked away, trying to figure a way out of this.

"Nothing, Castle. I didn't mean any –"

"Oh, no. No, no, no," he interrupted, taking a step towards her. "I'm not going to let this go. You finish your damn sentence, _detective_. What does my coming here have in common with my riding along at the precinct?"

Kate met his gaze squarely, unwilling to let herself be intimidated. She was a _cop_, for God's sake. Did he really think…? But the anger simmering in his blue eyes – and the fear behind it – both impressed and sobered her, because they weren't feelings he usually allowed to show.

"Your mother called me after the Raglan case," she said detachedly, fixing her eyes on the cupboard handle. Cupboard handle was safe. Cupboard handle didn't have an attractive face and eyes that crinkled.

"She did?"

Beckett could tell he was thrown off balance by the piece of information – he was having trouble both digesting it and connecting it to their previous discussion.

"Yeah. She asked me if I didn't think you were in over your head, with the ride-along thing – if maybe I could try to talk some sense into you, make you step back on a few cases, you know. To keep you safe."

"How come I don't remember having this conversation with you?"

The anger was completely gone now; confusion and a hint of discomfort was all she could read in the familiar blue eyes. Well, Kate thought, there was no possible way he could be as uncomfortable as she was right now.

"Because we never had it. I told Martha that we had your back, that we'd make sure you skip the dangerous ones – but that you were really useful and we'd like you to stick around. And I said that you'd probably not listen if we tried to warn you anyway."

"Which, to be fair, sounds fairly accurate," he remarked distractedly, more focused on the way she kept licking at her lips and shifting awkwardly. He couldn't for the life of him decipher what was going on here.

Beckett sucked in a quick breath, half-turning away, trying to run an agitated hand in her hair, and dropping her arm when she found she couldn't. Stupid hairdo.

"You don't see it, Castle, do you?"

"See what?"

"I lied!" she exclaimed, sounding mortified, disbelieving and hurt all at once. "I lied to Martha. I can't protect you. You could have died at least five times this year, and I would have been powerless to stop it. Your mother," she hammered out, "is _right_ to have those concerns. Because this job is risky, and it's _not_ yours. At least, it shouldn't be."

She looked away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes, unable to face him when he heard the rest.

"But I lied to her, Castle. And I did it because I'm _selfish."_

The words burnt like acid on her lips, but she spoke them anyway.

"I did it because I like having you around. Because the truth is, I don't _want_ to be running my investigations without you. I don't want to do this alone anymore. Not after last summer," she rasped.

God, why was she telling him that? She had to stop. It had to stop. But the words flowed out like a torrent, and there was a small part of her that thought those things needed to be said, and now was as good a time as any.

"I'm selfish," she repeated quietly. "And this is why you're here, too. Because I didn't want to do this on my own, and you…offered."

She sounded so miserable and so ashamed, under the layers of self-control, that Rick wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her that it was okay to be selfish, every once in a while. But he had his own concerns, too, and he needed to know something first.

"Do you regret bringing me?"

Kate looked up at him, alerted by the earnest tone, caught off guard by the question. Her brow furrowed lightly as she considered him.

"Beckett, do you regret bringing me?"

He knew her last name would trigger her reaction.

"No," she said slowly, because she could not give him anything else than the truth, even though her self-preservation instinct had kicked in and was suggesting that she lie. "No, I don't."

And she watched as the tension in his shoulders eased away, as a relieved sigh escaped his lips, as the ghost of a smile formed on his face. Was that really all that mattered to him? Her hypothetical regrets?

They looked at each other for a long time, hazel eyes staring into blue ones, both at a loss what to say next. At last Castle ran a hand into his hair (the mess that resulted would have made Beckett smile in other circumstances) and cleared his throat.

"You were right before. Even if you had spoken to me after my mother's call, I wouldn't have listened. This is not a game for me, Kate. The work we do at the precinct – it stopped being a game long ago. Being able to help bringing justice, finding murderers…"

He tried to put it into words – how rewarding it was, and the _reality_ of it all, and the thrill of the chase – but ended up with a frustrated sigh that brought the faintest smile to Kate's lips.

"I know," she said.

"Yeah, you do. And I _know_ I'm not a cop, and I don't have your training, and I must be careful not to put you guys at risk by doing stupid things. And maybe this shouldn't be my job – but I won't lie, it feels like it is now, and I'll be damned if I let the best thing that ever happened to me, Alexis excepted, slip through my fingers."

Oh, hell. If he made her cry, she would _kill _him. Right now, right here. She could see sharp-looking kitchen knives at the edge of her vision.

But Castle must have sensed the danger, because he added with a lopsided grin, "Of course, it doesn't hurt that I get to work with the best detective in New York City. And the hottest, too."

He waggled his eyebrows, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Innuendo was good. Innuendo was familiar, routine. Innuendo was easy to deal with.

"And as for my being here? I don't mind you leaning on me, Kate. I think it's pretty great that you're willing to acknowledge you didn't want to do this alone, to be honest."

The disbelief in his voice made her smile a little, but she had something to say, too.

"It's still not fair on you," she stated firmly, staring at her feet.

Two warm hands landed on her shoulders, and she had to look up. He was the kind of serious she had only seen him be with Alexis ("dad-serious", she called it to herself).

"You let me decide what's fair or not fair on me, Kate, will you? I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

She watched him pensively for a minute, and then gave him a sly grin.

"You want to know something crazy, Castle? For a moment there, I almost believed you."

"I _know_, right?" he exclaimed, not only accepting her silent wish to lighten up, but embracing it with open arms. "No wonder my mother thinks I should have followed in her footsteps and embraced the Craft – you know, when I was thirteen…"

"Not that I'm not dying to hear that story," she cut in before he could get carried away, "but I think we should get back in there before they start thinking we've been abducted by aliens. Oh wait – no, that would be you."

"Oh, so funny, detective. You know, while we're in here, we could check out the foo – Ouch! Hey, that hurt!"

He mock-glared at Beckett, nursing the hand she had just smacked – the hand that had been headed towards the fridge's handle.

"There will be no stealing from my grandmother's fridge, Castle. At least not if you want to make it out of here in one piece."

He let out a perfunctory grumble, but there was a delighted smile on his face as he followed her out. If she was issuing death threats against him, that meant she was okay. And – Rick had to hold back a relieved sigh at the thought – it meant _they_ were okay.


	9. Let Yourself Let Go

**A/N: **So, I know I said I wouldn't apologize again for chapters' lengths, but this one is a little bit of a monster. For reasons of continuity, however, I feel that it's better to leave it as a whole, rather than cut it somewhere random before the end and make another chapter of it. Hopefully, you'll agree with me. I'm afraid it contains a good deal of fluff, too (although after that absolutely incredible and dramatic finale, I guess we could all use some fluff, right?). Well, here we go, I guess. Title is from a beautiful song by Mika, "Any Other World" (those who watch The Good Wife might recognize it ;). Thank you all for your wonderful support, and enjoy the read.

**Disclaimer: If Castle was mine, maybe I wouldn't mind the summer break so much. But sadly, it's not.**

* * *

><p>The tight bun made Kate's scalp itchy, and she finally gave up the fight, reaching up to let her hair down. Prudence (the name was slowly growing on Beckett, unless it was just the girl) looked at her with wide eyes, stopping in the middle of a sentence about "that mean girl at school".<p>

"You look like a princess," she whispered in awe, and Kate wondered briefly if there was a damn contest going on today (something along the lines of _who can get Detective Beckett to blush the fastest?_).

"Thanks," she replied with a small smile (Lanie would have been proud of her; just last week she had been lecturing her on how to take compliments gracefully). "You're very pretty yourself."

They were standing near the buffet, because the young girl had taken a liking to the strawberry pie that had been left, up to this point, practically untouched. People had started leaving a little while ago – Teddy and Allison had been among the first, because they were staying with Rose in Syracuse, and had a one-hour drive waiting for them. Kate was honestly surprised that she was still here, and almost enjoying herself, too. After her…"confrontation" with Castle in the kitchen, things had been easier. It did help that she had, rather skillfully, managed to avoid Emily and Sheila, of course.

Looking around, she saw that Rick had settled on a sofa with her grandmother, on the opposite side of the room. The older woman seemed very interested by whatever the writer was saying, and at some point she made a sound that Kate would have called a chuckle, had she not known better.

"Prudence!"

Emily's voice came out sharp and cool, and Beckett jumped a little; but then she straightened her spine, ready to take any reproach or snappy comment.

"Time to go, darling," the woman told her daughter, ignoring Kate completely. "Go outside get your brother and sisters."

It was an order, and Prudence obeyed after letting out a disappointed, "Bye, Kate."

It took the detective all of her willpower not to issue a comment about Emily not being able to gather her children by herself. No matter what, Allison was right; it was not their place to interfere. She looked around and met Castle's eyes. The grim set of his jaw told her he'd caught the whole scene with Prudence and wouldn't have minded giving Kate's cousin a few words of parenting advice of his own.

She shook her head imperceptibly, and he gave her a sheepish smile.

There weren't so many people left, but suddenly the buzzing of the voices, the confined atmosphere of the room were too much for Kate. Castle, who read her like she was a goddamn open book – except when he left for the Hamptons with the ex-ex – stood up and said something to Victoria, probably about their leaving. The older woman stood up as well, and walked them to the closet where they retrieved their coats.

Castle noticed the bump in Beckett's purse, just as he noticed the exchange of glances between the two women, but for once he decided not to ask questions.

"It was lovely to have you both here," Victoria said, and Kate thought she could hear actual pleasure beneath the veneer of good manners.

"I'm glad we came," she answered – and as strange as it sounded, it was true. Well, mostly true.

Her grandmother looked at her with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

"I was thinking of organizing a family lunch tomorrow, with Rose and all of my grandchildren. All those who can, at least. Obviously, I don't know what your plans are – "

Beckett glanced at Castle, trying to remain calm even though panic flared in her stomach.

"But if you're not driving back to New York City tonight, maybe you could join us. And you as well, Mr. Castle."

Victoria's voice was neutral, carefully guarded, as if she didn't want to assume anything or put any pressure on her granddaughter. That was new.

It was new, and it caused Kate to hesitate. Teddy had actually warned her about the lunch, and she had been resolved to refuse, should she be invited. But now –

"We were going to leave in the late morning," she heard someone say, and she was shocked to find that the voice was her own. "But it won't make that much of a difference if we have lunch here before. If that's okay with you, Rick."

He nodded with a smile. You're the boss, his eyes said.

"You'll be free to leave anytime you want," Victoria added with something that sounded a great deal like eagerness. "We'll eat early, anyway, so it'll be no trouble for you. Come for eleven thirty?"

"We will," Castle answered warmly. "Thank you for everything."

"Not at all," the white-haired woman replied smoothly, but Kate caught the pleased glint in her eye.

The detective let Rick push her gently towards the door, her mind still trying to absorb the recent developments. She had said yes to a family lunch. She had deliberately agreed to come back here and endure more of Emily's sarcasm. Was she out of her mind?

Once they were at a safe distance of the house, Castle puffed out a breath and said, "Well, that was interesting. And it wasn't so bad, don't you think?"

Kate looked up at him to find his blue eyes shining. And against her better judgment, she smiled.

"No, I guess it wasn't."

* * *

><p>For once, Castle was the one to do the driving. When he had offered, Beckett had suggested he'd never be able to find his way back to the hotel, which had led to a bet – she was to buy them dinner if he succeeded.<p>

"Didn't you want to have dinner at Mark's café?" he asked.

In truth, Kate had considered it, but after the afternoon at her grandmother's house, all she was really yearning for was some peace and quiet. Even if it was weird to think that "peace and quiet" included the writer.

"The hotel seems more appealing right now," she answered. "We'll drop by the café tomorrow, and see Mark before we come back here for lunch. If it's alright with you."

"Sure," he agreed easily.

He had been doing an awful lot of that lately. Letting her call the shots, make the decisions. Knowing his usual childishness and the pleasure he took arguing with her about just anything, she could appreciate the effort he was making for her. And she was grateful. A little irked, too. But mostly grateful.

"I can't believe you actually got her to chuckle," Kate said out of the blue, suddenly remembering the writer's interaction with Victoria.

There was mild vexation in her voice. So what, Victoria Fields, also known by her grandchildren as "The Ice Queen", thawed in a matter of seconds when put in contact with Richard Castle, famous mystery writer and known playboy? It would have been surprising if Kate _wasn't_ vexed. After all, he seemed to have achieved what Victoria's children and grandchildren had failed to do in the many years they had known her.

Castle, perceptive as ever, sensed her annoyance and addressed it subtly.

"I don't think I had much to do with it, you know. Her warming up, I mean. From what she said, she had decided to mend her fences anyway. I acted as a catalyst, at best."

Kate sighed and leaned back into the headrest. Looking through the window, she took a few seconds to admire the pink and orange hues of the sun setting on the countryside.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Castle. I'm glad you were there and made things easier. It's just – a little hard to swallow."

"And again, I don't believe I made that much of a difference. It's been ten years, Kate. It's not surprising that you've all toned it down a bit. Should I turn left?" he asked suddenly, the car coming to a halt at a stop sign. "No, wait. Don't tell me anything. I'll find the way on my own."

"You sure, Castle?" the detective teased, a smile finally lighting up her face.

"Absolutely," he hummed, happy to hear the relaxed note in her voice.

He turned right and surveyed their surroundings, trying to recognize a street or a building – anything, really – from before. He was very observant, usually; but on the way here he had been more focused on his partner than anything else. Kate pulled her lower lip between her teeth in amusement.

"And what would that smell be?" she asked mockingly. "Oh, that's right. Your hard-won dollars paying for our dinner."

"So cocky," the writer said, shaking in head in disapproval. "But _just you wait, Detective Beckett, just you wait –"_

"_My Fair Lady_, now?"

"Hey, you know my mother. I've seen this thing more times than is probably healthy."

"Well, before you start about dancing all night, let me tell you this: we're headed in the opposite direction from our hotel."

"What?" he whined, giving her a quizzical look and obviously trying to determine whether she was messing with him.

"Eyes on the road, Castle! Do you want to get us killed?"

"Are you serious? I could have sworn it was the other way."

"Yeah, well. Don't go betting money on your sense of direction, if you want my advice."

He pouted and she laughed.

"It's okay, Rick. I was thinking lobster, but perhaps you'd like me to go easy on your wallet?"

He did not answer, but it was mainly because he hoped that it would trigger that beautiful laugh of hers again.

And he was right.

* * *

><p>Even though the day had gone far beyond Kate's expectations, it was a relief to walk back into their room and slip out of her heels. She tossed them to the side without a second look, and let herself fall onto the bed with a contented sigh.<p>

Rick closed the door, hung his jacket and turned to find her sprawled out on the comforter, eyes closed, holding a pillow against her. A smile slowly stretched his lips as he silently addressed a thankful prayer to whoever had decided to hold the fishermen's convention this week.

It wasn't just that, though. Beckett had agreed to share a room with him, even if it was only for two nights. The idea still left him awed, just like the fact that she felt comfortable enough to act so naturally around him.

Unwilling to push his luck – she was still, after all, the most independent woman he knew – he thought it best to give her some space.

"I think I'm gonna hit the shower. You okay with ordering in? Pick whatever you want, I'm not very hungry."

"M'kay."

She hadn't so much as batted an eyelid.

"I'm still hungry enough to know that I'll be thoroughly disappointed if I get out of the shower and find you asleep with no food ordered. Just sayin'," he added cheerfully before vanishing into the bathroom.

Kate groaned and rolled over. Reaching for her phone, she saw that it was only six pm. Castle, as annoying as he could be, was right about one thing – taking a nap right now would not be any help. Her thumb automatically scrolled over her list of contacts. She paused when Lanie's name brightened. But no, she'd never be able to keep the ME from guessing that Castle was here with her.

First things first, anyway. Beckett called the desk to know if they could have food brought up to their room. They could. She picked hamburgers, with vegetables as assortment (she was quite certain that if she ordered fries, Castle would complain about her unhealthy diet) and asked for a bottle of wine, too.

Then she quickly changed into jeans and a plain, blue T-shirt – the black dress was really too depressing – and grabbed her phone again. This time, it was Ryan's name that came out highlighted, and she pressed her lips together, considering.

It was ten past six. The guys would probably still be at the precinct, and Kate was curious to know how their case was going. Okay, scratch curious – she was dying for an investigation to apply her mind to. But she didn't need Castle to blabber on and on about her workaholism. Again. He was in the shower, however, and surely if she kept it short, he wouldn't even know?

She pressed dial before she had time to talk herself out of it.

"Beckett, hey," the voice of Jenny's fiancé greeted. "How is it going?"

"Not too bad," she answered dismissively. "How about you guys? Case going okay?"

"Just admit that you miss us already," Esposito jumped in – so she _was _on speaker phone.

"Man, it's not us she misses – it's the suspects and the coffee," Kevin said in a dejected manner.

"Is that true, Beckett?" Lanie's boyfriend asked with mock hurt.

"In case you can't tell, I'm rolling my eyes over here. Do you need a minute to cuddle and lick each other's wounds, or are you going to tell me about this case?"

"Wow, no need to get aggressive," Ryan replied affrontedly, but she could tell he was smiling. "As a matter of fact, we might use your help with a little something."

Of course, she got a little caught up discussing suspects and alibis and motives, and when the bathroom door opened ten minutes later, Kate was suggesting that maybe the wife wasn't as innocent as she looked (if she was, it did not speak volumes for her lovingness that she had called a lawyer five minutes after stumbling upon her husband's dead body).

Before the detective could issue any kind of warning, Castle exclaimed rather loudly, "So, Beckett! Where's that lobster you mentioned?"

If looks could kill, he would have been a corpse lying on the floor by the time he stepped outside and realized she was on the phone. She gestured furiously for him to keep quiet, and prayed that his voice hadn't reached the Blackberry.

No such luck.

"Was that Castle?" Esposito asked, obviously torn between excitement and disbelief. "Are you back in New York already?"

Well, at least he had not jumped to the easiest conclusion.

"Would I be on the phone with you if I was?" Kate replied smoothly. "I'm in my hotel room and have the TV on, but if you're starting to hear voices – especially Castle's – maybe you should talk to someone, Esposito."

The writer gave her the thumbs up, and she rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I heard that too," Ryan stated slowly. "It was Castle alright."

"Really, guys? I know you miss your girlfriend, but I'm still upstate for the funeral. What are you suggesting? That I brought Castle with me to keep me warm at night?"

She carefully modulated the tone of her voice to sound amused and disbelieving, and the only response she got was silence. Kate could picture the two detectives exchanging questioning looks.

"Nah, you're right, that was silly," Ryan caved in first. "Sorry, Beckett."

"We do miss Castle though. Maybe we'll call him, ask if he wants to meet up at the Old Haunt."

Beckett's eyes widened as she met the writer's, and he stared back at her in panic.

"You girls do whatever you want with your free time," she quipped automatically. "But if I were you, I would look closer into the wife."

"Yeah, we will. Night, Beckett," Esposito said, before they hung up.

Castle's phone started ringing immediately after, "Ice Ice Baby" filling the room and startling both writer and muse.

"Damn, they're not wasting any time," Beckett growled.

"What do I do? Do I answer?"

"No. You can just call them back later and say you were…_entertaining_ somebody."

"They'll never buy it," Rick objected, eyebrows knit together.

"Why not?"

Kate stared at him in surprise, and he briefly debated what to say. Oh well, he could go for honesty. It was what had gotten him there, after all.

"Because I haven't been _entertaining_ anyone in a while."

"So? Maybe you thought it was time to get back on track."

"_Really_? Come on! If I say I was entertaining someone, they'll just assume it was _you_."

The phone stopped ringing for a moment, and they looked at it with mixed feelings. Then Ryan's ringtone – an Irish gig – resounded loudly, and matching sighs escaped the duo.

"They won't assume it was me," Beckett objected. "They think I'm still with Josh."

"Oh. True. You haven't told Lanie?"

She looked down at her feet, and shook her head. Castle tilted his, humming interestedly.

"Why not?" he asked curiously.

Green eyes shot daggers at him. The phone blared even louder.

"Does it really matter?" she hissed. "Just answer the damn thing."

"But what should I say?"

"I don't know, _Castle_! Just make something up – isn't that what you do for a living?"

"I'm insulted by this affirmation," he mouthed while bringing the object up to his ear.

Beckett ushered him into the bathroom, so that there would be absolutely no chance of Ryan or Esposito overhearing her (it was clearly _not_ what they needed at the moment) and closed the door behind him.

A relieved sigh escaped her. Maybe she shouldn't have, but she trusted Castle's twisted imagination to get them out of this mess. Sometimes, she could have sworn there were absolutely no limits to what the man was capable to invent.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Kate suddenly remembered the food. She let in the round-faced guy who had welcomed them at the desk yesterday (apparently, he was good at multitasking) and was slightly embarrassed by the enthusiastic reaction that her stomach gave at the delicious smell. Yeah, maybe eating some more at lunch would have been a good idea.

After tipping the young man, Beckett nibbled at the grilled carrots and tomatoes while waiting for Castle. He wasn't long to come out, and his face lit up comically at the sight of the food. Sitting down in front of her, he took an eager bite of his hamburger and made a show of closing his eyes blissfully as he chewed. Kate rolled her eyes, forgetting he couldn't see her.

"Yeah, we got it, Castle, you were hungry. So, what did you tell them?"

Rick took his time to answer, enjoying every sign of impatience she gave.

"I told them," he answered at length, "that Gina was holding me hostage at the loft and wouldn't let me out until I had produced five, I quote, "decent" chapters."

"You didn't," Kate said disbelievingly.

The proud smirk on his face made an answer unnecessary.

"What if they call her to try and negotiate your release with her?" she challenged.

"They won't. I warned them about how perilous it would be to try and deal with an angry dragon. Besides," he added as Beckett raised her eyebrows in a clearly disapproving way, "Gina's currently in Europe. And it's not like they loved her before, Beckett. So eat, and stop giving me that look."

She reluctantly obeyed, sliding a slice of carrot in her mouth.

"You might want to turn off your phone," she suggested after a minute. "Just in case they try to locate you with the GPS."

Rick looked slightly disturbed. Then he considered, remembered how eager Esposito and Ryan had been to solve that homicide faster than Beckett and himself, and he reached for his iPhone. Better safe than sorry, right?

* * *

><p>Dinner was a friendly affair; they had eaten together countless times before, even though it was generally takeout during brainstorming sessions at the precinct. The hotel room didn't make much of a difference; Kate ran by him her theory concerning Ryan and Esposito's case, he pointed out a few holes in it, bounced back with one of his own. After that, the conversation drifted to Beckett's family, and they exchanged their opinions in the playful way that was theirs.<p>

Once they were done, Castle piled up dishes and plates into something that he considered to be an artistic creation, but that Kate quickly labeled as potential disaster.

Oblivious to her ironic comments, he settled on the bed and asked, "So, do you want to watch a movie?"

The detective leaned against the wall, looking at him pensively. She seemed like she was having an argument with herself, and the writer raised his eyebrows, curious to know what it was about while unwilling to interrupt her stream of thoughts.

"Actually," she answered slowly, "I might have a better idea."

She went to her coat, pushed it aside and retrieved something in her bag.

Rick tried not to look excited when she lowered herself onto the bed right next to him, a leather-bound album in her hands. He recognized the object he had seen sticking out of her bag earlier, and he congratulated himself on not saying anything about it. _Seems like you're learning, Dad_, said the miniature version of Alexis that had taken residence in his brain.

"What is this?" he asked curiously.

Beckett sucked in a breath, and ran a slender finger along the cover.

"A photo album. Those are…photos of my mom when she was young. My – my grandmother put them together for me."

She was speaking lightly, like it was no big deal; but she was not fooling either of them. The writer watched her face as she fought the emotion that was clearly assailing her. He could tell that this – the album, the whole gesture – got to her, much more than she wanted it to.

"That's nice," he said softly.

Kate's green eyes looked at him from under her eyelashes, and a small smile played on the detective's lips as she realized he was being genuine.

"Yeah."

Castle nodded towards the album, letting some of his natural cheer infuse his next words.

"Haven't looked at it yet?"

She shook her head, and then amended that (she really did have a thing for truth).

"I just looked at the first page, but…"

"It was too much?"

Sometimes Kate really was grateful that he knew how her mind worked. She didn't even bother to acquiesce; she knew her silence would be enough.

"Want to do it now?"

She looked up at his bright blue eyes, at the easy smile on his face. What was she doing? If she kept letting him in, if she kept opening up to Richard Castle, he would end up knowing her better than anyone else in the world. Maybe he already did.

Why was she not uncomfortable with the idea?

"Sure. If you don't mind."

"Ah, it's okay," he shrugged, a mischievous smile on his face. "There was this _amazing_ movie on TV tonight – "Monster-In-Law", maybe you've heard of it? – but I guess I can make a sacrifice and look at old pictures instead, you know?"

He let out a fake heavy sigh, adding, "That's what friends are supposed to be for."

Rick got smacked in the head for that, but the amusement sparkling in Beckett's eyes more than made up for it. He watched as she arranged the pillows for them to sit more comfortably, and eagerly inched closer when she sat down next to him.

Kate put the photo album right in the middle of them, and took a small, quivering breath – not realizing that Castle was doing the exact same thing – before she opened the first page.

* * *

><p>Maybe she should have expected it – the writer had this uncanny ability to make almost anything fun – but Kate actually had a good time.<p>

They laughed together and wondered at the adorable faces made by an eight or ten-year-old Johanna, commented on her teenage clothes (which were not quite bad enough to be deemed ridiculous), and passed silently over the pictures taken around the time of Samuel Fields's death. Those were easy to spot; there was a new gravity to Johanna's eyes, and lines around her mouth that weren't there before, attesting to a life-changing event.

Castle couldn't help noticing the tragic similarity between mother and daughter, who had both lost a parent at sensibly the same age. But he didn't like to dwell on unhappy circumstances, and instead he focused on the resemblance between the woman on the pictures and the one who sat next to him. It was not so much the features – though there was a certain likeness – as it was the smile, the radiant light in the eyes, the energy that transpired even through the stillness of the photographs.

Was that what Kate was like, he wondered, before her mom had been murdered? He thought back to the skating pictures she had shown him when they had worked the Raglan case, and to the megawatt grin on her young face.

How he wished he could have known her then. And yet, the reserve, the carefulness of Kate Beckett was such a big part of her character now that it felt strange to imagine her without it. Besides, Castle had come to like that part, because when he got her to share something of herself, it felt like an honour – a treasure, to be valued and cherished and cared for. This was _his _Kate; and knowing the fun-loving, carefree, lively teenager still existed under the protective layers she had wrapped around her heart only increased the fascinating enigma she presented him with.

Beckett kept turning the pages, at a slow yet steady pace, and pictures of Johanna-the-teenager were followed by pictures of Johanna-the-law-student, occasionally with a young Jim Beckett by her side. Johanna in her wedding gown, beaming; Johanna with a tiny, dark-haired baby in her arms –

"Oh," Rick said quietly, when he realized who that was. His hand moved of its own accord, coming to rest lightly on Kate's wrist, thus keeping her from moving forward in the album.

Mildly surprised by the touch and his reaction, she gave him a questioning look.

He didn't even notice.

He reached for the leather-bound book, drawing it closer so that he got a better view, and he peered at the scrunched little face, closed eyes, tiny fists.

Kate.

He had no idea where the sudden rush of emotion came from; maybe it was simply the fact that the amazing woman he had fallen in love with had once been this miniature, vulnerable human being – or maybe it was something else entirely, something to do with the amount of trust she was showing by letting him look at those pictures with her. He couldn't tell; he just kept staring at the photograph until his eyes hurt, until Kate let out an awkward little cough that said, _you're being creepy again_.

Switching focuses, Rick's gaze lingered on the tired, yet incredibly happy smile on Johanna's face. He put the album back in its place, resting half on Kate's thigh, half on his, and he said, "I wish I could have known her. "

He watched as the discomfort on her face slowly morphed into a tender, nostalgic expression. Her green eyes met his, too shiny for his taste, but she seemed serene, peaceful even, as she replied, her voice low and intimate, "I wish you could have, too."

They said no more; Kate's hand found his and she intertwined their fingers for a brief, heart-warming moment. Then she took her hand back, and turned the page, choosing to interpret his silence as an echo of her own feelings – a wish to move forward, and leave behind them the things that couldn't be mended.

When Castle next looked at the time, he had to double-check. It was almost ten. Had they really just spent _two _hours going over old pictures and telling each other some of their best childhood memories? Not that he minded, of course, but – two hours? _Really_?

Sensing his distraction, Kate looked up, and her eyes landed on the bedside clock.

"Is it ten already?" she asked.

Well, it was good to know he wasn't the only one to find that time flew by much too quickly. Her next question, however, set his mind on a different course.

"Weren't you supposed to call Alexis?"

He had forgotten to call Alexis.

He stared at Kate, bewildered, speechless. The rational part of his mind reasoned that it wasn't the end of the world, that his daughter was, no doubt, perfectly fine and could do without an over-concerned father. The rest of him was just dumbstruck. He had forgotten to call Alexis.

His phone was out of his pocket in seconds, and then he remembered turning it off before, in case Ryan and Esposito… But it didn't matter now, and Rick urgently turned it back on. His heart eased a little when he saw he had no messages waiting for him.

"I'll call her now," he said, as much for Kate's benefit than his own. "She's probably not asleep yet; and if she is, she'll have turned her phone off and I'll leave a message."

Had Castle not been so engrossed in making it up to his daughter, he would probably have noticed that Beckett was a little too silent, a little too thoughtful. As it was, he made a monosyllabic answer to her comment about using the bathroom, and gave her an absent smile as she closed the door behind her.

It was ringing on the other end of the line, and he rubbed his hand against his jeans in anticipation.

* * *

><p>Kate leaned against the door, unable to tell why she was so upset. She had only had a glass of wine. So why did everything feel like it was spinning? Sure, he had forgotten to call Alexis. She had enough good sense to know both of them would survive it if he only called his daughter every other night.<p>

Was it the fact that two hours had gone by, unnoticed? The fact that she had shared the album with him? That she didn't have a clue to what the hell it was she was doing?

The problem was, he was there being _Castle_, but a surprisingly gentle, thoughtful version of Castle, who listened to her and stood by her and offered to sleep on the floor, and –

It was harder to resist him. It was harder to remember _why _she was supposed to resist him. And it wasn't just the physical attraction. Oh, she wished it had been; things would have been so much simpler then. Physical attraction was something she could deal with, something she could rationalize. Those emotional upheavals he put her through? Not so much.

Through the closed door, she could hear Castle's voice speaking animatedly, rising and falling in a familiar pattern. He had gotten a hold of Alexis. Good, Beckett thought, her heart giving an affectionate squeeze as she pictured the smile of the smart, sweet teenager.

Alexis. Kate felt guilty sometimes, felt she was all but "stealing" Castle from the girl. And it wasn't even like she could swear that he'd come back in one piece. The bomb was a blatant example, but her mother's case was worse. "No cops," Raglan had said, and she had run straight to Castle, barely giving it a moment's thought. And then Raglan had been shot. What if the bullet had missed, if it had hit the writer instead? What if Lockwood had been told to kill Raglan _and_ the people he had come to meet?

Looking at the blood on her sweater that night, remembering Castle's words, she had shuddered to think it could have been him.

And still, he kept coming back. And still, she let him.

He had beaten up Lockwood to save her. Had kissed her to get her inside that warehouse. Had held her hand in front of a ticking bomb. How much more would it take? How many more close misses before she admitted to herself that she loved that man who gave her everything she needed?

Kate sunk her teeth into her lower lip, closer to tears than she had been all day.

Resting her hands on the sink, she leaned forward, then back, picking up a pendulum motion that she hoped would keep her from breaking down. Okay, she thought. Okay. She needed Richard Castle. She had needed his books, years ago, and now she needed the man, his silly jokes, his smile – the twinkle in his eyes. She needed him and the difference he made in her life.

And yes, maybe – maybe she was in love with him as well.

She was so deep in thought that it took her some time to realize that the sounds of Castle's voice had died away. She finished brushing her hair, and peeked through the door, curious to see what he was doing. He had just sat down on the bed with his laptop, and she watched with a smile as he started typing, an adorably focused expression on his face.

His attention was entirely devoted to the screen, and Kate pushed the door completely open, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the view.

The thought crossed her mind that she could get used to this. But what was _this_, exactly? Sharing a room with Castle? Being around when he worked on his writing? Sharing with him parts of her she had never shared with anyone before? Because all these things, she could not deny it, belonged to a greater whole that she was still afraid to put words on.

_Turn and run, _her instinct commanded, and yet she didn't move. Her eyes remained fixed on him, as if some sort of magical spell had rendered her incapable of movement. Castle's voice, thank God, broke whatever trance she was in.

"For someone who's always complaining about my staring habits, you're doing a pretty good job of it right now," he said amusedly, his fingers flying deftly on the keyboard to finish a sentence.

Then he looked up at her, the softness in his blue orbs belying the attempted banter of his words. When he had that face on – so serious and yet so _Castle _– the stupid muscle in Kate's chest became more intent on making itself known.

She pushed herself away from the door, took a breath, trying to think of something safe to say. With a slight nod at the laptop, she asked in a neutral way, "What happens when you finish the fourth book?"

It was not exactly safe, but it had the advantage of causing surprise to erupt on his features, and thus replace the expression that made her stomach somersault. All in all, not so bad.

Castle took his time to answer. He was not surprised that she had asked – Kate Beckett liked planning, liked to know ahead what she was getting into – but he was surprised, in fact, that she had never asked _before_. It was true that they had a policy of not talking about things that mattered – a policy he had come to dislike heartily – and he was both pleased and intrigued as to what had caused her to say the words.

"Maybe they'll ask me to write more Nikki Heats," he mused. "Or maybe I'll give Nik and Rook's story a happy ending and move on, I don't know."

He would have said more had she not echoed in a strange voice, "Move on? Or walk away?"

Oh, she had self-control, tons of it. But there was a flicker of hurt in her eyes that alerted him to the words she hadn't spoken, but that he could hear nonetheless – _like you did last summer_. They stared at each other for a moment, the ghosts of missed opportunities dancing awkwardly between them.

"Do you really think I could just walk away?" he asked quietly. If there was disappointment, if there was anger sizzling inside him, it was directed at himself, not at her.

He had screwed up, big time, going to the Hamptons that summer. Not calling once. Sure, she was supposed to be with Demming (he had doubts about that now, but no one would give him confirmation, even though Ryan was the closest to caving in) and it had hurt like hell, but still – it had been the worse mistake ever. Worse than marrying Meredith, even, because Alexis had always been the silver lining to this one.

Kate Beckett had abandonment issues. She could defend her heart better than Fort Knox, but he knew. Her mother had died. Her father had taken to drinking. That idiot of Will Sorenson had left her for a job in Boston. And freaking Mike Royce had betrayed her for _money_. Considering all of this, it was astonishing that she had accepted to talk to him after the summer, let alone taken him back as her shadow. Partner. Depended how you looked at it.

The point was, she had no reasons to trust him. He had to give her some. He had started already – _Always_ – and those six letters were proving very useful, but… Even if he was a writer, he couldn't really hope that six letters alone would do the job, could he?

Kate was still watching him intently, her large eyes darker in the room's half-light, and he was suddenly aware of the loud pounding of his heart. Setting the laptop aside, he got up to his feet, feeling for some reason that he needed to be standing for this.

"It may seem like I walked away before," he started, and had to clear his throat before he went on, "but you should know, Beckett, that it won't happen again. Ever."

He shrugged and smiled innocently, in a vain attempt to alleviate the tension.

"Why's that?" she whispered – no, demanded to know.

"I like my chair too much."

She studied him, and the corners of her mouth slowly went up.

"Is that right?"

"Well, that, and I've not completely lost hope of getting one of those smartboards one day, you know?" he added shamelessly.

Kate pressed her lips together, and this time he had no doubt that she was holding back a smile. Feeling lighter and unwilling to stop in such a good place, Richard said, "And if they let me, I don't think I'd mind writing Nikki Heat for the rest of my life."

The underlying meaning of his words didn't escape the detective, and she took a step back, a little overwhelmed. The wall was at her back, steady, immovable, and she was grateful.

"So, what did Alexis say?" she asked, looking for a way out of this conversation.

"Oh, the usual. She's having fun, but she's trying to keep her friends from driving the teacher crazy. You know, sometimes I think the responsible gene just skipped two generations and blossomed fully in my daughter, for an unknown reason."

The dim lighting threw gentle shadows on his face, drawing her attention to his cheekbones and the stubble on his jaw. Becket found herself wondering how it would feel to run her fingers along it.

"She says hi, by the way," he offered with a contented smile.

"She must find it so strange that you're here with me," the dark-haired woman observed, shaking her head in wonder.

"You're forgetting that she grew up with me as her dad," Rick shot back. "By now, I'm not sure it's still possible for Alexis to find anything strange."

Kate raised an eyebrow, but she had to own the truth in his words.

"And besides," he added, "Don't you know, after all this time, that my daughter is your biggest fan? I think she loves you more than she does me."

There was a good amount of whine in his voice, and he sighed dramatically, causing his partner to chuckle.

"Really, Castle? Playing the pity card now?"

He shrugged indifferently, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement and maybe other things, too. Beckett wasn't sure he had ever been that ruggedly handsome. Oh, she needed to stop that line of thinking, right there. It was one thing to own that she had feelings for Castle; and quite another to act on them.

"You know me, detective. I stop at nothing."

She laughed quietly, closing her eyes for a moment. Tiredness had started to take its toll on her body; her muscles ached, her head hurt and her heart was pounding in her ears. Thinking back on how awkward things were with her family, how lost she felt without a case to wrap her mind around, Kate couldn't help saying, "You know, maybe you should hope your daughter finds another role model."

_One that isn't broken and has more to her life than her job_, her mind completed.

It wasn't like her to doubt herself – not out loud, not in front of Castle – and she winced to think her words sounded like she was fishing for compliments. After his earlier stunt, and the way he had gathered adjectives for her like pearls to thread on a necklace of praise…

Kate was going to amend her last sentence, but he spoke first, the deep rumble of his voice coming from a much closer place than she expected. She could, in fact, feel the warm echo of his breathing on her skin, and it caused goose bumps to erupt on her forearms. Was it silly to hope he wouldn't notice?

"From where I'm standing, my daughter couldn't have made a better choice," he whispered softly, steadily.

Beckett opened her eyes to find him looking into her, solemn and intense and oddly confident. His mouth was inches from hers, and Rick leaned in slowly, invading her space a little more with every shallow breath she took.

"Castle," she murmured, unable for the life of her to decide whether she wanted him to stop or to kiss her breathless. He must have sensed her uncertainty, for he stilled, his face only a whisper away from hers (some remote part of Kate marveled at the fact; she had no idea he even had such restraint at his disposal).

The room was quiet and peaceful, and the only thing she could hear besides her frantic heartbeats were Castle's sharp, fast intakes of air. She raised a hand to his cheek, cupping it, and softly ran her thumb along his cheekbone. Almost imperceptibly, he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for an instant. There was such abandon, such trust in this simple gesture that it made her wonder why she had stopped him at all.

Her heart bursting with gratitude and affection and pure _want_, Kate closed the ridiculous amount of space left between them and captured his lower lip between hers, sucking it gently before she released it.

It was gentle, and absolutely unlike that first kiss they never talked about; it was thrilling in ways she couldn't even begin to describe.

Castle's warm lips flirted with hers like a butterfly dancing around a sweet-smelling flower, unhurriedly, in a delicate fashion that set Kate's nerves ablaze. When at last she increased the pressure of her hand on his neck, forcing his mouth to meet hers in a firmer way and parting her lips invitingly, they both let out similar moans at the feel of their tongues coming together.

It was even better than their memories.

It was…mind-blowing.

And it was just a kiss.

When they reluctantly parted for air after some time (neither of them would have been able to make an accurate estimation), Kate was, once again, relieved that she had her back to the wall. The dizziness – part from exhaustion, part from the kiss – was enough to make her sway.

It didn't escape Rick's notice, and he pulled her into an embrace, rubbing his cheek against her soft hair as he circled her waist. She relaxed into it, feeling a deep-seated contentment settle over her as his heartbeat lulled her into sleep.

His lips kept hovering on her forehead, her temples, and her hair, barely there and yet causing her to smile. She didn't want to think; she only wanted to bathe in the happiness that flooded her body. After a moment though, she slightly drew back, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"Rick…"

His mouth was on hers before she could say more, soft and tender, and he whispered against her lips, "Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow. Not tonight."

Kate wanted to argue, but a traitorous yawn escaped her, and Castle laughed quietly.

"I think it's bedtime for someone."

And in truth, she _was _exhausted (the irony didn't escape her; she could work fifteen hours straight at the station, but a day with her mother's family wore her down. She blamed it on the lack of coffee). The thing was, the writer was too comfortable a pillow for her to want to move.

So she made a noncommittal noise and leaned back into him, happily breathing his scent in. It was manly and familiar, but not so strong as to irritate her nose; pinewood, maybe, and something else that she couldn't place.

"Does her Highness want a ride to her royal bed?" Rick murmured – he was smiling, she could tell.

The words reached her, but her brain was too lazy to give them meaning, and she was still trying to make sense of them when the writer, obviously taking her silence for assent, scooped her in his arms.

The surprise jerked her awake, and he was lucky that she controlled herself before she punched him or something.

"Castle, put me down _now._"

He was grinning widely, clearly delighted by her reaction. _Whipped, _she thought fleetingly.

"Oh, come on," he said, unable to tone down the amusement showing on his face. "The bed is what, ten feet away? You'll get there faster if you don't argue."

Kate's arms had somehow landed around his neck, looking for support when he had swept her off the floor, and he was rather enjoying the feeling. The detective looked at him with narrowed eyes. She felt downright ridiculous. Well, maybe she felt a little bit like a Disney heroine, too.

"Fine," she conceded finally. "You can carry me to bed, or whatever you want to call it. But you better enjoy it, Castle, because it will not, I repeat, _not_ happen again. Ever."

His eyes darted between her and the bed, and Beckett got distracted by the dark blue hue they had changed to. Rick smiled deviously.

"I'll walk slowly," he said.

She couldn't help the single note of laughter that escaped her.

Castle laid her down gently when she had expected to be dropped unceremoniously (he certainly knew how to pick his moment not to be childish). For some reason, Kate's arms were still around his neck, and the expression on his face told her he was going to do something sappy like kissing her forehead or another stupid, romantic, fairy-tale oriented action.

_Oh, no_, she thought cheekily. _My turn to play._

Using her forearms as leverage, she pulled him forward suddenly. The position he was in – half-bent over her – didn't allow for any resistance, and he fell on her with a surprised yelp. Before she was crushed under his weight, she used the momentum of his fall to roll him on the side, and the shock on his face succeeded where his girlish scream had failed: she burst out laughing.

Rick looked at her, pouting.

It only redoubled Beckett's hilarity.

"Your…face," she managed to get out as she fought to take a breath.

"Yeah, yeah, we got it," he groaned. In truth, he was tempted to start laughing with her, but the last remnants of his pride were fighting hard to survive.

He settled for watching her dab her moist eyes, trying not to show how much he enjoyed the sight. Eventually she calmed down, but her voice was still heavy with delight when she said, "Oh, that was amazing."

"Please tell me you mean the kiss," he pleaded.

She grinned and fought a new fit of humor.

"I wish I had a tape to show Ryan and Esposito," she sighed.

"If you say one more word about it, Beckett, you don't get to use me as a pillow. And I'm a very _good_ pillow."

"Oh, how am I ever going to sleep?" Kate asked emphatically.

"Fine. Your choice."

He turned his back to her, and she wondered for a second if he was really upset, or just pretending.

"Castle?"

No answer. Beckett rolled her eyes. He was such a child.

"Rick, look at me."

Either it was his first name or the soft way she had spoken that did it, but he half turned back, giving her an assessing look. She raised her eyebrows. He grudgingly finished rolling over.

"What?"

Try as she might, she could not contain her smile. It didn't really help her case, so she asked quickly, "Would a kiss make it better?"

He pretended to consider, even though she could see the corners of his lips twitching up.

"Maybe," he answered reluctantly.

Kate inched closer before she could give it another thought, and brushed her mouth against his. His eyes closed instantly, and she used the opportunity to run her lips along his jaw – his stubble tickled – and press an open-mouthed kiss to his neck.

His sharp intake of air told her that it was enough. Given the tired state she was in, she didn't want to get into things she might regret later. She needed to be a hundred percent sure.

"Okay," she whispered. "Time to sleep."

Rick bit his lip to keep a disappointed moan from escaping. He expected her to draw back and curl up on her side of the bed, but instead she nestled her head against his shoulder, and rested a hand on his chest.

Did she expect him to sleep like that?

"Night, Castle."

Apparently she did.

Castle let out a breath, and gingerly put a light hand on the curve of her waist. She chuckled.

"I'm not gonna break, you know."

Kate Beckett was encouraging him to touch her. Okay, so chances were he was either dead or in an alternate universe. But that was okay; he would take whatever he could get. Her body (they were so close he could feel it) trembled with contained laughter, and he jumped at a chance to stop thinking about their current position.

"If you wake me up tonight because you're laughing at me, Beckett –"

"I won't," she mumbled.

"You better not," he humphed.

"Castle, would you shut up and go to sleep already?"

He fell silent and she thought he was sulking again (in her dozing state, she couldn't bring herself to care) until he whispered, "Sweet dreams, Kate". She muttered something that sounded like "They will be" and Rick found himself grinning in the dark, full of those words he didn't know how she would react to.

_I love you._


	10. Sunny Days

**A/N: **Sorry about making you guys wait that long for an update. That chapter didn't want to cooperate fully with me. It's your fault, too, a little bit - with all those amazing reviews, I don't feel like disappointing you and delivering something I'm not satisfied with ;-). But hopefully the length will somehow make up for the wait. Also, chapter 9 now has an extra ending to it (you can thank Trapped in a Matchbox, who convinced me it should be in there :), so those of you who haven't read it might want to do that before they read this one. Not an absolute necessity, though.

There will be one more chapter after this one, which should be the last, I think. Since I only have a vague idea of what it's gonna be like, I thought I'd take ideas and suggestions - if there's anything special you wanna see in there, let me know ;-) ! Thanks for sticking with me, and enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Castle and its characters don't belong to me.**

* * *

><p>It was still dark when Richard Castle half-opened his eyes to the silent bedroom. A timid ray of light had found its way through the curtains and seemed to suggest that daybreak wasn't too far away; but it was still much too early for the writer to be awake without a good reason.<p>

Castle didn't have regular sleeping habits. His bouts of inspiration had never seemed to follow any sort of rule or pattern; which meant he sometimes spent whole nights writing, but also that he could get up insanely early if an idea had gotten a hold of him.

It wasn't the case now, however, and he tried to clear his sleepy brain, wondering what had woken him. His left arm was numb, having been supporting the weight of his body for most of the night, it seemed, and Rick shifted slightly, trying to make his position more comfortable.

The way he moved brought his right hand in contact with a warm, incredibly soft surface, and he froze, suddenly remembering why he had been sleeping on his left side in the first place. His eyes shot open, for good this time, quickly focusing on the face that was half-buried in the pillow, at a much too close distance to be safe. Kate. He felt an overwhelming (and possibly absurd) surge of joy when he realized she hadn't moved away from him in her sleep, but quickly sobered and returned to the issue at hand.

Literally. Because his right hand was now resting on what felt like Kate's upper, very naked thigh (damn T-shirt she wore had likely rolled up during the night) and it seemed to have no desire to move whatsoever.

Castle tried. Really tried. But his body must have gone on strike, because there was no response to the signals sent by his poor, confused brain. So he kept still for a minute, waiting for Beckett to wake up and inflict bodily harm on him.

Only, she didn't, and of their own accord, his fingers started tracing light curves and circles across the smooth expanse of skin. A remote part of him was aware that she would _kill _him if she woke up to find his hand doing… Whatever it was doing, but it all felt like a dream – being in bed with Kate Beckett, close enough to be able to touch her – and all ideas of stopping definitely left his brain (along with pretty much everything else) when she made a soft sound that sounded like approval, and inched closer.

So his fingers just kept moving slowly, trailing over her skin (he kept respectfully to a small area, not quite trusting himself with the rest of her). He didn't notice a change in her breathing pattern, didn't see her eyelids so much as flicker (she really _was _a good actress) until her eyes opened at once, large and intense and _awake_ –

Rick barely had time to register the desire shining in there; already Beckett's slim, pliant body was pressed against his, and she was kissing him.

He let out a moan, somewhere between surprise and delight, and Kate took the opportunity to dart her tongue past his lips, effectively bringing whatever thought process he might have had left to a halt. His body took over, and the writer responded eagerly to her advances, nesting a hand in her silky mane and running the other along the delicate curves of her wiry frame.

They were still facing each other, resting on their sides; and despite his desire to roll her onto her back and cover her body with his (or, alternatively, to let her get on top of him) Castle fought to keep things somewhat measured. Or at least he was trying to when Kate slid a hand under his t-shirt, her mouth abandoning his to suck gently on his pulse point after leaving a trail of fire across his neck.

His whole being writhed in pleasure at what she was doing to him, and his brain came back to life, screaming a warning so loud that he had to listen. He panted, trying to gather enough oxygen to actually form words.

"Kate. Kate, stop."

He might as well have said nothing. His words went unheeded; oblivious to anything that wasn't the burning desire he had sparked deep inside her, Kate found his mouth again, and her teeth grazed at his bottom lip, drawing a low, agonizing growl out of him.

Rick felt a jolt of realization as his fingers dug against his will into the soft, warm skin of her waist. If he didn't stop this _now_, he was lost.

And it took him every ounce of his willpower to get his body to obey and _physically_ push her away, but he did. It probably hurt him more than it did her.

Kate landed on her back, her breath short, her eyes wide with shock. Awareness dawned on her – this was real, not just another dream; this was real and she _had _thrown herself at Castle, _had _stuck her tongue down his throat, _had_ pressed her body against his like… Oh, shit. And he had pushed her away.

Her mind, still hazy with remnants of sleep and desire, was in no condition to deal with the conflicting emotions that the situation evoked, the mixture of incomprehension and indignation and fear and self-doubt that made her head spin. Since she couldn't be rational, Beckett did what she did best: retreat. With a tremendous effort, she curbed her rebellious feelings and controlled her breathing until she was sure she could trust her voice.

She didn't so much as glance at the writer. _That_ she was not ready for.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she finally managed, and the husky quality of her voice made her close her eyes in dismay. "This was… A bad idea. My fault. Let's just… Forget it happened, okay?"

Richard, who was having a struggle of his own trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing and not screwed everything up, turned a sharp gaze to his partner.

Not that in the half-light, he could see as much as he usually did when looking into her eyes – and she wouldn't look back at him, which didn't make it easier – but something in her tone alerted him, caused his chest to tighten painfully.

What was "it"? This morning? Last night? Both? Castle didn't want to forget, didn't think he could even if he tried. "No, no," he wanted to say – to plead, to argue, to _fight_ – but the sounds wouldn't get past the barrier of his throat.

Beckett seemed to take his silence for acquiescence, and turned to face the wall, putting some distance between them.

"It's fine, Rick," she said – but the cool, detached, airy way she spoke the words belied them. "Go back to sleep. I get it. We work together. We're friends. It's a bad idea."

There was absolutely no way that she was going to sleep now, but she could fake it. At least she'd have some quiet time to regroup, both emotionally and physically. Her skin still tingled from Castle's touch, the little traitor.

The writer was paralyzed. She didn't mean that. Surely she didn't. He couldn't let her draw back now. If he did – damn, he didn't know if he'd ever get another chance. She'd find another Tom or a Josh, and he would be a little less stupid than the previous ones, a little more intent on fighting for her, and things would be over before they even had a chance to start. _No._

This time the word resounded loud and clear in the dark bedroom, and he was the first surprised.

"No, Beckett –" he winced at his mistake, fought not to scream in frustration, tried to make up for it. "Kate."

The way he said her name, soft and meaningful, almost did her in. But she gritted her teeth, struggling fiercely with – with what, exactly? Her eyes fell on the bright digits of the alarm clock. It was only six in the morning. No wonder she couldn't think straight. She felt a surge of anger at Castle, for waking her up at such hours with his ridiculously arousing hand on her thigh, and then acting like he had changed his mind all of a sudden.

"Kate," he said again, and it was worse than the first time, because now he was pleading, and he sounded so…vulnerable. She didn't want to listen, but she _couldn't _not to.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

She heard him sigh, an exasperated sigh intended at himself it seemed, and something in her chest fluttered.

"I'm an idiot. That's nothing new."

He sounded convinced, almost enthusiastic, as if he had stumbled upon a gold mine and intended to start digging. Oh, Lord. Beckett braced herself for whatever was coming next.

"You can't possibly believe that I don't want this as much as you do."

And what was it he thought she wanted, exactly?

"Because trust me, Kate. I want this. I want this _so bad_."

The deep, breathy quality to his voice sent a shiver running down her spine, convincing her much more effectively than the words. Damn him.

"And kissing you could never, ever be a mistake."

He ploughed ahead, steady and focused, refusing to stop to take her silence into account.

"But this – this whole trip – it's about you, about your family. _You_ are the only one who matters right now. And everything you've told me, everything you've shared with me…"

_It means so much more than sex_. He didn't say the words; he thought she understood. He hoped she did.

"I don't want to make it possible for you to doubt my motivations. I don't want you to look back at this moment and wonder if I took advantage of your… emotional vulnerability, or whatever you want to call it. I don't want to make this about me. I can wait. I _will _wait."

Kate took a moment to absorb the words. She didn't move; she liked not being able to see him. Her head was clearer that way.

"So," she said at last, "you're basically saying that you're rejecting me because you're choosing now of all times to act noble?"

She wanted to sound mad, she wanted to yell at him for assuming he knew better than her what she needed, but she couldn't find it in her heart. He wasn't wrong, not completely at least. She was raw and emotional and vulnerable, or whatever he said.

She sensed his hesitation before he spoke.

"I could never _reject _you," he answered in so quiet a voice that she almost missed it. He wanted to argue over her choice of words? Fine. She could do that too.

"Oh, _could_? So it's a pity thing?"

That sounded more like her, like them, with the ironic ring to it and the playful tone. But Castle, refusing to engage, said firmly – fervently – "I _would_ never reject you."

Warmth erupted in her belly, in her toes, in her chest, everywhere. It really was nonsense, the things he could do to her using only his words. Kate rolled over before she lost the will to do so, and made eye contact.

Earnest. That was the appropriate description for the way he looked right then. Earnest, and so _sincere_. She closed her eyes for an instant, suddenly wishing she could go back in time and change the conversation they'd just had – re-write her own reaction.

He was trying to act as he saw fit, trying to give her whatever he thought she deserved. Sure, they would need to talk about that; she wanted him to ask instead of just assuming, but… Never before had Beckett been so aware that they were their own obstacles. Sure, his fame and her job played a part in their holding back as well, but really, fear was at the centre of it. Fear of so many things – her not being enough, his short attention span, the baggage they both came with – that the detective felt that the list would take days to complete.

And fear was still there, hidden in the depths of her being, as Kate looked into her partner's blue orbs. She acknowledged it, but didn't let it override the newfound confidence that she felt. This was it. They didn't need to waste any more time.

It wasn't _her_ to put words on what she felt, though, so she tried to express it in other ways, her eyes dark and intent on carrying those emotions to him. The connection that existed between them worked mysteriously sometimes, but not then – and Rick, reacting to what he read on her face, leaned in and touched her mouth with his.

Yesterday had been about his desire to make her feel better, to boost her confidence (and maybe, admittedly, about his inability to help himself). Today was different. Today was about telling her he loved her without actually using the words; a challenge that Castle found himself eager to take up.

He kissed her, deep and slow, relishing her responsive shiver, bringing a hand up to caress her soft cheek. Kate half-opened her mouth, but he ignored the invitation, choosing to focus on her moist lips instead, showering them with light kisses before he bit gently at the bottom one and traced its contours with his tongue. When he drew a moan from her (part of him revelled in the sound) he stopped, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him.

She did so reluctantly, it seemed, as if she was still unwilling to let him see how much he affected her. Rick smiled, pure happiness shining in his eyes, and Kate relaxed completely. Emotion was threatening to overwhelm her, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes, and she willed them back.

He was wrapping his love around her as if it was a mantle, a magic cloak to protect her from the harshness of the outside world – and if the detective knew how impossible such a thing was, it sure didn't keep her from appreciating the intention. She threw her arms around Castle's neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. There were no words.

No words could express how she cherished she felt, how wonderfully cared for. No words could express how grateful she was for the man in her arms.

She could feel his lips tremble against her skin, and she suddenly realized he was holding back. Kate didn't want him to – she wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it was words she didn't think she was ready for. She owed him that much. And "wasn't ready for"? Scratch that; she needed those words said as much as he did.

"Say it, Rick," she murmured before she could change her mind.

His breathing hitched, and she could feel his hesitation. She tightened her hold on him in response to his wordless inquiry. The writer took a shaky inspiration that tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, and he said with devastating certainty, delivering each word like it was a gem of its own, "I love you, Kate."

She felt giddy, light-headed, as he repeated his confession again, and again, with such force and such tenderness that it was impossible not to believe him.

Beckett didn't make any attempt at a vocal answer, but she didn't pull away; she didn't let go of him, not a single bit. And to Richard Castle, this was all the response he was ever going to need.

* * *

><p>The alarm set by Castle rang three hours later – or rather, sang about a beautiful day and not letting it get away – and the writer's hand reached blindly for his phone until he managed to turn the damn thing off. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he rolled over to find Kate had buried her face into her pillow. She let out a sound startlingly akin to a growl.<p>

"Mmh," she moaned. "I don't want to go."

Rick watched her with undisguised amusement. This was a side of Beckett he had never been privy to – had never even known to be there – and he was enjoying the unexpected find. Enjoying it too openly, maybe, since he got swatted on the arm for his cheerfulness.

"It's not funny," she hissed, but there was the hint of a smile on the quarter of face that he had a visual on.

"Oh, I think it's pretty funny," he disagreed cheerfully. "So, are you saying you want to spend all day in bed with me? Because I could probably talk myself into such a change of plans."

"Really? Wouldn't that go against your "not taking advantage of me" policy?"

She made no attempt at hiding the sarcasm in her voice, and Castle cursed her for being so sharp when he was getting distracted by the way her brown curls shone in the morning light.

"Hey, I just mentioned the bed. Whatever activities your guttered mind immediately jumped to, that's none of my doing."

"Yeah, right," she sniggered.

"I'll pretend not to know what you mean by that. And since I'm feeling generous today, beautiful detective of mine, I have an offer for you. I'll use the bathroom and get ready first, and you can laze in bed a little while longer."

_Beautiful detective of his_, uh? Was it bad that she liked the sound of it?

"That's really nice of you, _writer of mine_, but I have to pack my bag anyway," she said, holding back the smile that she felt. She sat up, swinging her legs out of bed while he made a show of looking at the tidy pile of her clothes.

"Pack…what, exactly?" He ventured to ask.

"Castle," she warned gently. "Go get your shower, and then we can go down and have breakfast in the restaurant."

"Oh, are you buying?"

Kate rolled her eyes. He could really be annoying when he wanted to.

"Maybe. Now, would it be too much to ask for some privacy?"

The writer didn't answer, just hovered around her until she raised her eyebrows at him, silently asking what the hell was wrong with him. He squirmed a little before he gave up.

"I didn't get a good morning kiss."

And there was the whiny nine-year-old again. Although, when Beckett looked closer, she thought she could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He didn't want to damage this fragile thing they had anymore than she did. He didn't know if it was okay to ask for a good morning kiss. Oh, Jesus.

Kate stepped closer and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough to breathe in that sleepy smell of his. She rather liked it.

"Happy?" She asked a little briskly, moving away so he wouldn't be able to read her emotion.

He grinned widely in response, and Beckett fought the urge to roll her eyes again. Or to kiss him. What was it about Richard Castle that always evoked such diametrically opposed reactions from her?

With a sigh, she turned her back to him, and bent over her bag to pick some clothes.

"Stop checking out my legs, Castle," she said absentmindedly as she folded the dress from the day before. She heard him chuckle unabashedly, and seconds later the sound of the bathroom door closing told her that she was alone at last.

Beckett eyed critically the contents of her bag. She had not been planning on seeing her mother's family outside the funeral, which meant the black dress she had worn the day before was the only dressy thing she had brought. Oh well, jeans would have to do, she thought as she put them on with decided hands. She was Detective Kate Beckett, for crying out loud. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else.

Then she picked a dark green blouse that complemented her eyes, and let the tangle of her curls free to cascade on her shoulders. Examining herself in the mirror, Kate was pleased to find that she looked fresh and rested (funny how two nights away from the precinct, getting somewhat decent sleep, could help with that). So she went easy on the make-up, only putting on some blush, and her usual combination of eyeliner and eye shadow.

Taking a step back, she studied her appearance, allowing a small smile to curl her lips. She didn't think Castle would complain.

_Rick. _She didn't think _Rick _would complain. The detective bit her lip gently, wondering if it all could be that simple.

She knew better than to answer that question with a positive, but there was no need to agonize over this, she reasoned. Just…go with the flow, right? Her belly was fluttering happily; and though she could have pinned it on her empty stomach, she found that she didn't really want to.

* * *

><p>Packing didn't take long, and neither did breakfast. Or maybe it was just the light dancing in Castle's blue eyes as he watched her and joked with her that altered Kate's perception of time.<p>

They kept to light topics, Kate because her stomach was tied in knots at the prospect of a family lunch, and Castle because he couldn't find a manly/funny/nonchalant way to ask if it was okay to tell people they were together. (Because they _were _together, right? Every time he started to doubt the reality of it – which happened just about every ten seconds – he would remember the feel of her slender body in his arms, her soft breath on his neck, and then have to remind himself to stop grinning like the biggest fool she'd ever seen. It was a little exhausting. Not that he was complaining or anything.)

Once they had turned in their key, and safely tucked their bags in the car's trunk, Beckett weighed their options. Mark's café wasn't far from the Whitesboro Inn, but walking there would have meant having to walk back to the car afterwards. Might as well take it with them now; at least they'd have it close at hand.

What she hadn't thought about was the very few parking spots actually available around the bar; and after touring the surrounding streets to no avail, Beckett let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at her watch. They had come to a halt at the same red light for the third time.

Castle put a light hand on her thigh to call for her attention and she looked at him, her brow furrowing. She was not in the mood for games. He saw that, and quickly said, "Let's change seats. I'll park the car; you go ahead and see Mark, and I'll join you as soon as I can."

Kate hesitated.

Rick smiled his roguish smile and wiggled his eyebrow.

"Come on. You know you want to."

Trust the man to try and make into a sexual allusion something that had nothing to do with it. She shook her head, and opened her door after checking that no cars were queuing behind them.

"Okay. Thanks," Beckett said as he walked past her to get in the driver seat.

"Don't mention it," he replied with a warm smile. He pushed the seat back – not much, because she was tall – and waved good-humouredly before driving away. Kate watched for a second, amused. She didn't know how he did it. Where he found the energy for the constant spring in his step, for the bright look he levelled on the world.

But she sure was grateful for it.

The door to the bar was closed, but Kate knew by experience that Mark would be inside, busy with the finances, or ordering new wine or foreign beers. Chances were he was in his office, and out of hearing range, so she turned into the next street. There was a side door there, that Mark often left ajar because few people knew of its existence. Today was no exception, and Beckett stepped inside, careful to push back the door behind her.

"Mark?" she asked, not wanting to scare him.

She heard the squeaks of a chair being moved, and moments later a door opened on her right. He had kept his office in the same room, she thought with a smile.

"Kate?"

The tall, dark-haired man wrapped her in a half-embrace, kissed her cheek. He had always done that with Johanna, and somehow the habit had been passed on to Kate. She didn't mind.

"Hey. Are you busy?"

"Not so busy that I can't make time for you," he winked. "Let's go and sit at the bar. How did the family meeting go? Did everybody make it out alive?"

"Surprisingly, yeah," Kate chuckled, perching herself on a stool. "The Dragon was in a good mood. She even – she made me a photo album, Mark. With pictures of Mom."

A pleased smile played on the man's tanned face.

"So she finally had the good sense to make her peace with you, uh? Good for her."

"I guess you could put it that way. And speaking of photos… I want you to have this one," Beckett said, reaching to her back pocket for the picture she had put in there earlier.

It showed a sixteen-year-old Johanna riding on Mark's back, her long hair all over her face and shoulders, her eyes twinkling. Both of them were laughing freely, their skin glowing in what looked like the light of a warm summer evening.

They looked young. And they looked happy.

Mark studied it with a ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained dry as he levelled a grateful look on Kate.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"Do you know who took it?" the detective asked, curious. From her mom's relaxed attitude, she could have sworn it wasn't Victoria.

"Must have been Lily," the bar's owner answered, his voice rough with emotion. "She was the only one who liked me, aside from your mother."

Kate nodded, not exactly surprised.

"Do you know," Mark went on after a pause, "that Lily came here sometimes?"

"When she was younger?"

"No, in those last few years. She came in one day, all shy and hesitant – you should have seen how my patrons looked at her, with her pearls and her matching outfit… But as it turned out, she only wanted to talk."

"Talk? With you? About what?"

Beckett realized the disbelief in her voice was maybe a bit hurtful, but she couldn't help it. Thankfully, Mark wasn't easily vexed.

"What do you think?" he replied. "About your mom. When you think about it, Lily had no one else to turn to; Johanna's name was never as much as breathed in your grandmother's house, and you know how encouraging Rose is. Never mind Emily or Sheila. Abby was the daughter Lily was the closest with, but Abby was only thirteen when your mom died. She didn't have that many memories of her."

Kate was stunned. She didn't even know why. The idea of Mark and Lily sitting together, talking about her mother… She realized that what she felt was mild jealousy, and shock subsided into understanding and amusement. She couldn't exactly blame them for seeking comfort with one another, not when she hadn't come back to Whitesboro for such a long time.

"Good thing she found you, then," she said eventually, with a soft smile.

The older man looked relieved, and he smiled back. "I guess so."

He cleared his throat before asking, "So, where's that writer of yours? I rather like the guy, to be honest."

Kate snorted. "That's Castle for you. _Everybody _likes him." Including Victoria Fields, who was famous for not liking anyone, ever.

"Including you?" Mark shot back smoothly, with a knowing glance.

Ugh. Was she that obvious?

"Well, I did bring him here. I guess it speaks for itself."

"And that was a masterful deflection if I ever knew one. Oh, is that a blush I see on the cheeks of my little Katie?" he asked laughingly.

"You're delusional. And Castle just offered to park the car. He should be here any minute now," she said, hoping he would get her meaning and drop the subject.

But he didn't.

"You know, Kate, love's not a crime. Neither is admitting to it," he said with a cautious smile.

"You mean, like you admitted it to Mom?"

It was a low blow, and she regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She really needed to work on her reactions to sensitive issues. To his credit, Mark didn't even look surprised or angry. He just paled.

"I never said anything to your mother."

"I… I guess I knew that. Why not?" she asked, her tone softer now.

The lines of his face sagged a little as he sighed, and Kate wondered if he was going to answer at all.

"I didn't think she felt the same way," he said eventually. "I didn't want to ruin what we had. It wasn't for any one reason, you know, there was a whole bunch of them. Then she left for college, and by the time I had figured out exactly how much she meant to me… She'd met your dad. And she was in love, Kate. You could spot it from a mile away."

"Oh," the detective breathed, understanding and sadness filling her at once. Was it strange to feel sorry that your parents had met? Jim Beckett was her dad, and she loved him fiercely. But she knew what position Mark had been in, and she knew how painful it could be.

Thank god_,_ she thought suddenly, that Castle had not completely fallen for Gina again.

"I figured, what was the point?" Mark went on. "Make her miserable by asking her to choose? No, Kate."

"You were being a good friend," she commented in a low voice.

"I guess that's what I was trying to do, yeah. I loved her. I wanted her to be happy. Even if it wasn't with me."

He sounded sad, but not regretful, and Kate loved him all the more for it. Putting a gentle hand on his forearm, she said, "You're a good man, Mark. And she loved you very much."

His warm brown eyes looked up at her, and a slow smile broke over his face.

"Thank you, Katie."

There was a knock at the window, and they could see Castle's face squashed against it, peering and trying to see inside. Beckett laughed quietly – couldn't help it, really – and she went to let him in.

She pulled the door open, and Rick came forward eagerly, marking a hesitant pause in front of her. Kate's brow furrowed at his closeness – for a terrifying and yet thrilling second, she thought he was going to kiss her – before she realized he had brought his hand up, with the car keys hanging from his index as a sort of peace offering.

From the way his blue eyes lingered on her lips, however, her first guess hadn't been so far from the mark either. Beckett snatched the keys, annoyed at the way her body seemed to hum with pleasure at Rick's continued proximity, and closed the café's door before going back to her stool, at Mark's side.

Her old friend was looking at her with an open smirk; of course, he had missed nothing of their little awkward dance. Kate held back a frustrated groan. She didn't intend to make a secret of…whatever was going on between Castle and herself – but she wasn't the sort to brag about it, either. What was she supposed to say?

"Hey there, Rick," Mark greeted cordially, shaking the writer's hand.

"Nice to see you again, Mark," Castle answered with a smile.

"Likewise. So, are you enjoying Whitesboro and its beauties?" The man glanced sideways at Beckett, as if to make it clear what "beauties" he was really talking about. She scowled, but it was hard to maintain when Rick's face had this deer-in-the-headlights look about it.

Her partner's eyes darted from her to Mark as he visibly tried to determine how much he could safely say.

"It's been a… An interesting visit, for sure," he answered at length, managing to sound casual. "Whitesboro is – full of surprises. _Pleasant_ surprises," he added quickly, when Kate arched an eyebrow.

She hid a smile as well as she could, but it was obvious from Mark's expression that he wasn't buying any of it.

"Want to share any of those "pleasant" surprises, Rick?" the older man inquired. He was enjoying himself, Beckett could tell. She had to admit that she was too, just a little bit. Watching Castle squirm had always been one of her favourite activities, and it wasn't like she wanted to keep Mark from finding out about their…relationship. There. She had said it.

"Well, the karaoke, for once," the writer answered with a valiant smile. "That was a lot of fun, actually. And then, meeting Kate's family was, uh, entertaining."

"Entertaining, uh?"

A wide grin split Mark's face in two, and he started laughing. Castle shifted nervously on his feet and stole a glance at Kate, wondering what that was about. She shrugged.

"_Entertaining_," the dark-haired man repeated once his hilarity had faded a bit. "Oh, Kate. Your family, entertaining. That has got to be the kindest thing anyone has ever said about them. He really is in love with you, isn't he?"

Both their reactions would have been worth a picture, had Mark had a camera close by. The slack-jawed, dumbfounded expression of the writer found its match in Beckett's resolutely downcast eyes (even if the blush that had spread over her cheeks and neck was not to be hidden). _Adorable_, the older man thought, his heart melting a little.

"Good for you, kids," he said, clapping a hand to Rick's shoulder and giving a tender smile to the woman he had known since she was a baby. "I'm glad to see you're not repeating my mistakes."

Castle, who had quickly mastered his surprise, shot a furtive look at his partner. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but there was a soft glow to her as she smiled back to Mark, saying something that was lost on the contemplative writer.

And then it hit him – happiness. That light at the back of her eyes… It was happiness. Something swelled inside Rick's chest, pure joy tinged with disbelief, and he was quite content to stand there in silence as the conversation went on without his participation. He wasn't sure he could have remembered how to form words even if his life had depended on it.

* * *

><p>The weather wasn't sunny like it had been the day before, but the clouds that blocked the sun were a clear, unthreatening pearly grey. Kate couldn't help thinking that it would have befitted the funeral better; but there was something comforting in the way nature wouldn't bend to the human will, and would remain an independent, unmanageable entity of its own.<p>

When she parked the car, Castle seemed lost in thought, and she couldn't help wondering what was going through that mind of his. The old Kate would have dismissed the question on the grounds that it was none of her business (and that it either involved the CIA or a bunch of naked women), but now – well, she wouldn't have minded knowing. Wasn't enough to make her ask, though.

They got out of the car and walked side by side to the mansion, their hands brushing every couple of steps. In the end, Castle took hold of hers, and when Kate glanced sideways at him, his profile showed an attractive resolve. Holding back a smile, she closed her fingers on his. Subtle he was not.

But she was starting to think that she actually didn't mind.

Beckett was about to ring the bell when they heard voices arguing inside. Taking a step back, she saw that the kitchen's window was wide open; that was where the sounds came from. Castle shot her an interrogative look; she shrugged and stepped closer to the window.

Emily's voice reached them, loud and clear in its own shrill way.

"I can't believe this! She hasn't been there in ten years, isn't even one of us anymore – if she ever was – and you ask her to _lunch_? What is this, the return of the prodigal granddaughter? Her place is not –"

"Don't you dare tell me where her place is, Emily," came the cold, steady alto of Victoria. "Last time I checked, this was my house."

"You'll have to admit, it's not exactly fair," a man's voice intervened – George, Kate thought.

"Fair or not, deal with it, both of you. She _is_ my granddaughter, too. And don't think I don't know why you two stick around. If it weren't for your hope that you'll get this house when I drop dead, I wouldn't be seeing such much of either of you now, would I? Kate may not have been here for a while, but at least she's always been honest about the way she felt about me."

The sound of decided footsteps followed that declaration, and Beckett and Castle each took a step back, even though there was no chance that the kitchen's occupants had seen them. They exchanged a look, horrified for Kate, and shocked for Rick. He was quicker to recover his balance, though, and humour shone in his blue eyes as he whispered comically, "Which way do you want to run?"

She swatted his arm lightly, but not before he had fulfilled his goal – she had smiled, however briefly.

"Don't tempt me," the dark-haired detective replied under her breath as she rang the bell.

* * *

><p>Contrary to Kate's expectations, everything went surprisingly well for a while. Victoria greeted them, ushering them into the living room along with the rest of the family; and the short time waiting for Abby and Sheila to get there was spent in light conversation. Apparently, no matter what Emily's private thoughts were, she had decided on being good enough company not to mention them.<p>

It was a little strange, but Kate had been taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The food was heavenly, of course, coming out of her grandmother's magical hands; and everybody ate in religious silence, except for Castle who expressed his awe with enough superlatives for Victoria's cheeks to tinge with the lightest blush (a very rare occurrence).

The writer was sitting next to Kate, with Teddy and Allison on the opposite side of the table. Abby, Margaret and Paul separated the detective from Emily and her husband, and Sheila was seated at the further end of the table. It was a clever arrangement; one Beckett had mentally thanked her grandmother for when she sat down. She was still holding her breath, but she was starting to think that maybe this lunch thing would end without a drop of blood being shed.

Of course, she should have known better.

At least Emily had the good taste to wait until the main course had been thoroughly enjoyed to make her move, sliding into the seat that Allison had just vacated to go check on Lucy. Putting on her most polished smile, she turned her cold blue eyes to Castle, and, not minding one bit that he had been talking to Teddy, she said, "So, I hear you're a writer. And a pretty famous one. I'm sorry I didn't know who you were before. I don't read much, and when I do it's not fiction."

Rick was pretty sure there was an insult hidden somewhere in there, but he didn't let it affect his reaction. He smiled pleasantly, said something about it being okay, and asked jokingly if she wanted an autograph.

"Oh, it's sweet of you to offer. I don't really need one, but maybe you should ask Kate if she does."

"I'm sorry?"

There was something malignant about the look she gave him, and Castle felt a mounting uneasiness as he glanced at his partner, instantly knowing something was wrong. Kate's mouth was a thin, tight line, and all colour had drained from her cheeks.

"You see," Emily went on gleefully, "after my husband told me you wrote novels, I thought the name Richard Castle sounded vaguely familiar. I just couldn't figure out where from."

From the corner of his eye, Rick saw Kate's hand clench on the fork she was holding. This was bad, and he couldn't understand how. He had to rely on the harpy's next words, and he hated every second of it.

"And then I remembered. And when I got here this morning, I went straight to the bookshelves to check. _A Rose For Everafter_ is one of your first novels, I believe? And how many times did you read that summer, Kate? The summer after your mother's death, I mean. Five, six times? Maybe more."

Beckett was stock-still, her gaze firmly fixed to the white tablecloth, in complete denial. This could _not _be happening. Castle was not going to find out just how much his books meant to her in the _worst_ possible way.

And yet he was, because there was no shutting up Emily, not when her own throat felt tight and swollen, not when she couldn't even organize the words in her head. She was painfully aware of the silence that surrounded them, leaving only the joyful babble coming from the children's table – everyone around them was listening in.

"So how did this happen, Kate? You got tired of the books and decided to go to the source itself, make sure you'd never run out of his words? Sent him a touching letter to explain how he had helped you, with a picture in case he was interested in a date?"

Kate couldn't determine which was worse; the sugary, laughing tone her cousin spoke in, or the actual meaning behind it.

"Or maybe it's just about the money? I'd get that, you know. No need to be shy about it."

The only reason why Castle had not yet interrupted the flow of poisonous words was the shock he felt. He had known for a while now that Beckett enjoyed his books, was "a fan" even, if you listened to Sorenson or to some of Lanie's veiled allusions. But this… This was about so much more than fandom. If it was true. Rick had absolutely no faith in the blue-eyed, sharp-tongued snake that sat in front of him.

"Kate?" he said quietly, wondering. Emily relished his uncertainty; she grasped eagerly at the power it gave her.

"Oh, she didn't tell you? I'm surprised. You made such a difference in her life…"

"Shut _up_."

It was Teddy, horror colliding with cold rage in his dark brown eyes. Kate pushed back her chair, stood up.

"Excuse me," she said in a toneless voice, completely unlike herself. And then she fled. There was no other name for it. She just fled. She couldn't picture another way out of this that wouldn't involve broken bones for Emily, and she didn't think her grandmother would enjoy that solution. Turning abruptly into the corridor, she heard the soft sounds of Lucy's baby talk, and went the opposite way. She needed to be alone.

Beckett went up the stairs, and without thinking, she rushed into the second room on her left. The bedroom she used to think of as hers.

It hadn't changed much; the single bed was still at the same place, the curtains still the same navy blue. The bookshelf was there, too. Kate immediately spotted the book Emily had found to confirm her theory.

Her original copy of _A Rose For Everafter._

She reached for it with a shaking hand. That summer, when she had stormed out of her grandmother's house with no intention of ever coming back, she had left the book behind. She had been incredibly mad at herself when, once back in New York City, she had opened her bag and found it was missing (of course, she still had _In A Hail Of Bullets_ and _Death of A Prom Queen_, but Castle's second book had always been one of her favourites).

Ultimately, she had just gone to the nearest bookstore and bought it back. That copy had gone off into flames the year before, along with most of her stuff; and it was a strangely pleasing sensation to know that the first Castle novel she had ever bought had been here in Whitesboro this whole time, safe.

Her hands ran over the hardback cover, and she pressed the book to her heart. Maybe having it back wasn't worth the whole drama downstairs, wasn't worth having almost every member of her family wondering if she was a crazy fan or just a gold-digger… But it made up for it a little.

Kate was level-headed enough to know Castle himself would never give credit to Emily's accusations. He knew her too well. He knew how adversary she had been to their partnership at first, knew how hard she had tried to keep him from learning exactly how big of a fan she was.

But she also knew that her cousin's assumptions were only the beginning. The press, Castle's fans – they would all think the same things. At least, they didn't know about the difference that the writer's novels had made in her life. Yet.

Beckett let herself sink to the floor and sighed. It just couldn't be simple, could it?

* * *

><p>Richard Castle had never been quick to anger. When he was in high school, the only way he would ever get involved in a fight was because he talked too much; he had never been very good at holding that quick tongue of his.<p>

But as he watched Kate storm out of the living room, her shoulders tense, her step quicker than usual, he felt an overwhelming need to get back at the woman who was responsible for his partner's reaction, a need to hurt, to cause pain, that surprised the hell out of him. He contained himself, of course, if only because he was surrounded by Kate's family and did not wish to cause any more of a crisis; and instead he smiled sweetly at Emily, a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Is that the best you've got?" He asked in a conversational tone. "'Cause I'm still convinced she's ten times the woman you are."

The woman's cheeks flushed crimson, and she opened her lips to make an angry answer. Castle was faster than she was.

"Oh, and last time I checked, wrath and envy were still deadly sins. Might want to work on that," he added cheerfully as he stood up to go after Beckett.

He met Victoria's eyes, and was surprised to catch a tiny smile playing on the woman's lips. She gave him an imperceptible nod that he took as permission to leave and answered with one of his own, and then he walked out.

Richard stepped into the corridor, and found himself at a loss where to go next. The line of closed doors offered a somewhat daunting prospect; and since the writer had been too busy to snoop, he only knew where two of them led – to the kitchen and the bathroom. His gaze rested on the staircase as he shifted from foot to foot, undecided.

It wasn't just about knowing where Kate had gone, if he was honest. Emily's words, malicious and untrue as they were, had hit a soft spot – a question he had no answer for. Why was Beckett with him at all?

She often made fun of his overinflated ego, but it wasn't that simple. As a writer, Rick was fairly confident in his own ability, even though the fear of a writer block such as the one he had been going through, when he had first set foot in the 12th, still lingered at the back of his mind. As a father, he'd had to learn everything from scratch, but his daughter regularly reminded him that he was doing okay, and he enjoyed every second of it. He knew he wasn't a bad son; and as a man Castle had never had any trouble getting people to like him – getting women to share their bed with him.

As a boyfriend, or as a husband… Ay, there was the rub. There lay the reason why he had stuck to one-night stands for a while after his second divorce, the reason why he was so reticent to let anyone outside his family circle see the "real" Richard Castle. He didn't seem to be much good at either of those things. And considering how big of a romantic he had always been (though he had gotten better at hiding it over the years), it was humiliating, at best.

But Kate… She was different. She made him believe – believe that he could do this, that he could be good enough for her, if he tried hard. She brought his inner romantic self back to life (he could almost hear her voice wondering if that _really_ was a good thing, and found himself smiling in response).

Victoria's light step roused him from his thoughts. He turned to find her looking at him with an undecipherable face, but in the end the corners of her mouth went up as she nodded slightly towards the second floor.

"I think she's up there," she said, not bothering to mention names. "Second door on your left."

"Oh. Thank you," Castle replied, and he started towards the stairs.

"Mr. Castle," Kate's grandmother spoke again softly, and he stilled for a moment. "You had better take good care of her."

Rick's eyes met the woman's, and they exchanged a long, knowing look.

"I'll do my best," he answered seriously, but then his face slowly lit up as he added, "As long as she lets me."

His answer drew a chuckle from Victoria's lips, and they parted ways, pleased with each other.

The second door on the left was ajar, and Castle's breathing picked up. He had no idea what he was going to say to her; asking something like "So, did you start reading my books after your mom's murder?" seemed out of the question.

_Too much thinking, Rick_, he chided himself. _Just get in there_.

He pushed the door open, stepped inside, feeling awkward. It was a child's room, even though everything was neat and tidy – there were delicate, old-looking dolls sitting on a chest of drawers, and a box with the picture of a toy train on it occupied the lower shelf of an otherwise packed book-case.

Kate was on the floor with her back to the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked up at him, eyes green and guarded, but not trying to avoid him, and suddenly there was no room for doubt inside him anymore.

He sat down next to her, and noticed that she was holding a worn copy of _A Rose For Everafter_. Well, at least she had not thrown the thing out of the window. He took it as a good sign. Stretching his legs with a complacent sigh, Rick made himself comfortable, and he waited for Beckett. When she was ready, she would talk.

She came around faster than he had anticipated. Her attention was still on the book in her lap, but she said in a low voice, "Are you mad?"

His silence compelled her to look at him; an eyebrow was arched over the familiar blue eyes, in an unvoiced question.

"Are you mad that I didn't tell you?" Kate asked again. "Or upset, or disappointed?"

"What am I supposed to do, check the appropriate box?"

A shadow of a smile played on her lips, but he didn't waste time providing her with a real answer.

"None of the above," he said reassuringly.

It was Beckett's turn to give him a questioning look. Castle smiled, and chose his words carefully.

"It would have made no sense for you to have told me about this when we met, because you were trying to keep me at arm's length then – and I'm not saying you were wrong, mind you. And once we got to know each other… It's hard to picture a situation in which you'd have felt free to tell me – to tell me what, exactly?"

He sounded almost shy, but the detective was glad for the chance to replace Emily's words with her own. She had to play with the cards she was dealt, hadn't she?

"To tell you that your books saved me," she replied, and she was proud that her voice didn't waver.

Maybe it was a simplistic way to put it – corny, even – but it didn't keep it from being true.

She could have sworn her partner stopped breathing for a second after that; but his gaze remained locked with hers, carrying more emotion than any speech could have.

"Ah," he said after a moment, in a husky voice, "As I said, it's hard to picture a situation where you'd tell me something like that."

"You mean, like right now?"

Rick grinned, but there was still this look on his face. A humbled look. She couldn't think of a better way to put it, not when her heart was busy tightening in response. She tentatively reached for his hand, and the writer finally gave up to his own need for contact, cradling her in his arms even as his back protested against the awkward position.

"I have a message for you," he whispered, enjoying the way the soft tendrils on her neck moved with every word he spoke.

"What message?" Kate asked, suspicious already.

Oh, he loved her _so_ much.

"It's a message from Derrick Storm, and all the other characters from my books."

She smiled against his shoulder.

"I thought Storm was dead?"

"Ah, yes. But he is, uh, sending this message from the next world."

"From the next world, in the world of fiction? Jeez, he really is good."

"Of course he's good; I created him," Castle answered, sounding slightly indignant. "Now, do you want to hear the message or not?"

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"They're telling me to tell you that they're…honoured, if they've been able to help you in any way. And they also want to thank you for your attention. They want you to know how proud they are to have such a good and faithful reader."

"How do they know I'm a good reader?" Beckett asked playfully.

"They haven't heard of anything you're not good at yet."

The detective could think of a couple things, but she would rather have bitten her tongue than spoiled the moment.

"Well, isn't that nice of them."

"You think so, too?"

"It's too bad, though. I'd give them a thank you kiss, if they weren't fictional characters."

Richard suddenly drew back to meet her eyes, looking as eager as she had ever seen him. Kate sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep herself from laughing.

"You can give it to me. I'll make sure to pass it on. Them on. I mean, you'd want to give a kiss to each of them, right?"

She made a show of her uncertainty, chewing on her lip and relishing the way his eyes darkened as she did so.

"I don't know, I don't want the message to get lost or something."

"You can trust me," he assured, nodding so vigorously that Beckett feared he would hurt his neck. "I'm very reliable."

This time, she allowed a chuckle to break free.

"Well, in that case…"

His lips were on hers before she could say any more, and Kate poured her heart into the kiss – after all, it was very important for Derrick Storm and the rest of the characters to know _just _how much they meant to her.


	11. Try and Love You

**N/A**: Right. So, again, I'm very sorry for the wait. I realize I said this would be the last chapter; turns out I lied. The thing is, I now have a pretty good idea of the way this story is going to end (thanks in no small part to **pat19btvs**), but getting there is taking longer than I thought it would. As a result, I have some 10,000 words written, but the chapter still isn't finished. Rather than to post it all at once (which would make all of you wait even longer, since it's not quite ready), I've decided to break it up into two parts. Here's the first; it's shorter than usual, but the next one will make up for that, hopefully. And I _will_ have it up by Monday, I promise. In the meantime... I hope you enjoy this; and thank you again for the support. You guys are amazing.

**Disclaimer: Castle still isn't mine (in case you were wondering). And neither is "Add My Effort" by The Weepies, the song that inspired the title for this chapter.**

* * *

><p>Castle enjoyed every second he got to spend in Kate's company, especially when, as was the case presently, her body had merged into his in a warm and welcome embrace. But he was also aware that politeness demanded that they get out from her old bedroom sooner rather than later, and good sense backed up politeness since they still had to drive back to New York City that day.<p>

"Not that I don't like hiding from your wonderful family," Rick said lazily, rubbing his cheek against her silky hair, "but if we stay here, we're gonna miss dessert."

"And that's an issue? I thought Alexis told you last week to go easy on all things sugary."

He looked at her, insulted.

"And you thought I'd listen? Dessert is the best part, Beckett! A meal without dessert is like…"

"Please don't go for the day without sunshine comparison."

"I was going to say "like you without coffee", but suit yourself."

She shot him a baleful look, and he grinned before bouncing up to his feet and extending a hand to help her up. Kate's eyebrows shot up, and she purposefully ignored his offer, getting to her feet by herself. Then, and only then, did she take his hand, and Rick's grin widened some more.

_I hear you_, he thought amusedly, opening the door to let them out.

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to make your _stomach_ unhappy, Castle. Fastest way to your heart, isn't that what they say?"

"If that's true, my dear detective, I'm afraid you find yourself in a bit of a predicament. Pray tell, when's the last time you cooked a whole meal for yourself? What's that? Years ago? Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Doubting my cooking abilities, now, Ricky?"

She closed in on him, beautiful and deadly like some wild animal, and he couldn't help taking a step back even as his heart gave a half-frightened, half-delighted squeeze.

"I'm gonna let that one go," she whispered, a teasing glint in her eye, "but that's just because I don't need cooking to get to your heart. Or do I, _Rick_?"

Man, she was good. Castle wavered, wanting at once to keep their light banter going and to wind her with an honest answer; he settled for something in between.

"Are there, uh, other ways you can think of to get there?"

The line of her mouth curved briefly, just enough for him to know that she was holding back a smile, before she gave him a disappointed pout.

"Do I need them? I was under the impression that I had your heart already."

It was a pretty bold statement to make, even with everything that had happened between them, and Kate had to struggle to keep her nonchalant poker face on.

_Someone's getting confident_, the writer meant to reply; but he was rendered speechless by the coy, adorable look she shot him. Decided not to let her win, Castle drew closer. She wouldn't move, wouldn't give way; but her pupils dilated with every step he took.

He leaned in, close enough to see her eyes drift shut, and went for her ear instead of her (oh so attractive) lips.

"And you do," he breathed against her skin. "So you better be gentle with it. My heart's a fragile little thing."

"Is it, now?" she murmured, a beautiful smile touching the corners of her mouth. "Well, I'll try to be careful, then. But I can give no guaranties."

"That's okay. I've always been a risk-taker, anyway."

Kate's laugh darted like an arrow; a clear, spontaneous, untamed sound that dared the writer to conquer its source. He dared; his right hand traced the soft curve of a cheek, brushed against the smooth column of her neck – fascinated, entranced.

"_A thing of beauty is a joy forever_," he quoted before he could help himself.

She laughed again, enchanting and wild.

"Getting corny, aren't we?"

"Keats is never corny," he shot back, and whatever answer she had meant to give, he gathered it on her lips before it came to life.

Her mouth was warm and soft under his, indulging. He took and gave and explored, feeling at once like a pillager stealing from a sacred temple and a priest of that same temple expressing his devotion on his knees. It was a disconcerting sensation – as disconcerting as the woman who was its origin.

She had a hand in his hair, the other resting flat on his chest, right above his heart; she was so real, so _close_. It was exhilarating. He kissed her again, and again, loosing his footing a little more with every touch of her lips, until Kate pushed him back gently.

"Don't you want dessert?" she said, her voice a little unsteady, but tinged with amusement.

_I just want you_, he felt like answering; but before he could deem the words too straightforward, another voice resounded in the stairs, making them draw back from each other.

"Kate!" The call was followed by the sound of quick footsteps.

"It's Prudence," Beckett said, running a finger over her lips, as if it could erase the trace of his kisses. Castle had to physically turn away; she was irresistible, all flushed cheeks, dark eyes and swollen mouth.

The young girl emerged from the staircase, slightly out of breath, and she rushed to the detective, throwing her arms around her waist. Kate thought fleetingly that she had done more hugging in the last two days than she had in the last year, and exchanged a surprised glance with her partner. She detached carefully Prudence's hands from her back, and knelt down in front of the child.

"Hey, what's going on with you?"

"Mom says we have to leave now," Prudence said resentfully, and Beckett felt a pang of anger mixed with guilt.

"Did she say why?"

"She never says why. She just tells us things and then we have to do as she says."

Oh. That didn't sound too good.

"I don't want to leave," the girl begged, her dark brown eyes looking pleadingly at Kate.

"Honey, she's your mom. There's not much I can do. She doesn't… She doesn't like me very much."

"Well, _I _like you," Prudence said stubbornly.

Beckett sighed. She liked the child, too, but it hadn't been very smart of her to let that happen. Given the situation between Emily and herself, she highly doubted that she would get many chances to see Prudence again.

"I like you too, but I think you should go, if you don't want your mom to get angry."

As if on cue, they heard Emily's voice, harsh and cutting, coming from the ground floor.

"Prudence! You better come down here this second!"

"She'll be mad anyway," Kate's little friend murmured. She hugged the detective one more time, then took something out of her pocket – it was a green, yellow, blue and pink charm bracelet that she put around Beckett's wrist in a quick move.

"It's for you," she said resolutely, and all the objections that Kate was ready to make died on her lips when Prudence's determined eyes met hers. Instead the dark-haired woman merely said, "Thank you. It's very pretty."

"Will I see you again?" The child asked hesitantly.

Something snapped in the detective's chest, and she turned urgently to Castle.

"Do you have some paper and a pen?"

He did – Kate had never been so glad that he was a writer – and he handed both to her with a small smile.

"Here," she said, using the wall as a support to write, "is my number. You can call me whenever you want, if you need to talk. Okay? It's my cell, and even if I don't answer the first time, you can try again until I do."

Prudence's face lit up, and she looked at the jagged piece of paper as if it was pure gold.

"Thank you," she whispered in awe.

"Now go," Kate ordered, pushing her gently towards the stairs. "I'll see you again sometime, I promise."

With a last look over her shoulder, Emily's daughter took off. Both adults watched her leave, Beckett slowly getting back on her feet before glancing to her partner. He looked like he was having an inner fight over something he wanted to say; she tilted her head, giving him wordless permission to voice his concerns.

"Are you sure it's a good idea, making promises like this to a child?" He asked quietly.

Kate took a deep breath. "You're worried that I won't be able to keep it. But I will, Castle. I can come here for a weekend this summer, when they're all around. Do you know how many days off I have lined up?"

"I'm not saying you can't, I'm just…not sure you actually will."

He winced when he realized how the words sounded, but it was too late; Beckett's face closed up, and she gave him an icy look.

"Well, it's lovely to see you have such faith in me."

"I didn't mean–"

"And you think because you have a kid, you know better than everyone else how to handle them, don't you? Think again, Rick. I'd never want to let down a little girl. And when I make a promise, I damn well intend to keep it."

"Okay, okay," he said in what he hoped was an appeasing voice. "I'm sorry."

"It's easy to say _I'm sorry_, isn't it? Easier than to actually _think_ before you speak."

Ouch. That one stung a little. The writer took a step back, trying to understand how it had come to this. He was a bit surprised at the violence of her reaction – and he realized belatedly that she was probably not much more comfortable with the situation with Prudence than he was.

"I trust you," he answered gently, because it was the truth and he could see no other way out of this. "You know that. I tend to be… oversensitive, whenever a child is concerned. Bit of a job requirement when you're a single parent," he explained with an apologetic smile. "It's something I still need to work on."

Kate didn't reply immediately, but the set of her shoulders relaxed visibly. She was still avoiding his eyes when she said at last, "I just… I just wish she wasn't Emily's daughter, you know? Everything would be simpler that way. If she could be, I don't know, Claire's or Margaret's. Emily and I never got along. I'm not sure why. And I don't want Prudence to get caught in the middle of that. God, I should never have spoken to her at all."

"Hey, it's not your fault she likes you," Rick said good-humoredly, putting a light arm around his partner's shoulders. "You can't really do anything against that. Take me, for example."

"You mean the way you stick around even when I try to get rid of you, like a weed?"

"Compliments are something _you_ still need to work on, aren't they?"

A smile erupted on her lips, unbidden. Crisis averted for now. Kate slid a hand inside Castle's, and tugged him in her wake.

"Let's go, or Teddy will have eaten your share when we get there. I have no doubt mine's gone already."

* * *

><p>Dessert was a marvel – a delicious encounter between strawberries, whipped cream and meringue; and it performed the feat of making Richard Castle speechless. Beckett was watching him with sparkling green eyes, and he would have given a great deal to be able to read her thoughts.<p>

No, he took that back. Being able to read her thoughts would have come in handy sometimes, sure, but it would also make it impossible for her to surprise him; and Kate's endless ability to surprise him was one of the things he loved best about her.

They stayed for coffee, but took their leave not long after, around one. Teddy and Allison managed to get a promise out of Beckett that she would visit them in Buffalo before the end of the year; and they not-so-subtly hinted that Castle would be welcome as well, if he was "in the neighborhood".

Victoria walked them to the gate, something she hadn't done since Kate was a little girl. The detective turned to her grandmother, finding a smile mirroring her own on the lined but still beautiful face.

"Thank you for inviting us," she said, "and…I'm sorry about all the drama."

"Sorry?" Victoria echoed, amusement lacing her words. "It's not like you asked for it, Katherine. I'm the one who should have known better. After all, I know what Emily's capable of."

Wow. Beckett still had to get used to this new version of her grandmother, who didn't lay undeserved blames and was refreshingly honest. It made her think back to the conversation they'd had about her mom, and suddenly Kate realized that there was something that Victoria Fields had yet to learn.

"Castle, would you mind waiting for me in the car?" She asked, after a split second of hesitation.

The writer masked his surprise with a good-humoured smile, and he answered quickly enough, "Of course not. Mrs. Fields, it was a pleasure meeting you," he added, extending a hand to Victoria.

"Likewise, Mr. Castle," the older woman replied, blushing lightly when Rick actually kissed the back of her hand instead of just shaking it.

He could see from the corner of his eye that Kate was shaking her head, probably thinking that he was overdoing it; but he actually liked her grandmother, and if the woman was sensitive to old-fashioned manners, then old-fashioned he would be. Plus, he had always thought he should have been born a century earlier – there were the clothes, of course, and then the idea of experiencing Prohibition first hand…

But he was getting distracted. He gave both women – so similar and yet so different – one last smile, and started in the car's direction.

"He's a good man," Victoria observed in a low voice.

"He is," Kate agreed noncommittally.

"I would like to hear the story of how the two of you met, I think, one day. If you wouldn't mind telling me, that is."

Beckett looked at her in surprise. "Oh. Sure, I guess. But there's, uh, there's something else I want to tell you."

"You're not sick, are you?"

It was not like Victoria to jump to conclusions, not like her to ask questions with this nervous edge to them; but in that moment Kate saw the woman behind the mask, the woman who had lost so much already and wasn't sure how much more she could bear. Beckett's heart tightened painfully.

"No," she assured quickly, "no, nothing like that. It's… It's about Mom."

Her grandmother arched her elegant eyebrows, and the detective sucked in a breath, trying to determine the best way to go about this. Maybe there just wasn't one.

"I found him," she said out of the blue, and went on to explain when she saw the look of incomprehension on the older woman's face, "the man who killed her. I found him."

The clear blue eyes widened, and the effortless assurance that Johanna's mother had always pulled off shattered. Kate wondered briefly how she could ever have thought the woman was indifferent.

"They said it was random violence," Victoria said, her voice choked with emotion.

"It wasn't," Beckett replied fiercely. "It was connected to the case she was working on, because she was trying to help a man who was in jail for a crime he hadn't committed; and whoever was behind the whole thing had her killed. I caught the hit man."

"He's in jail?" the other woman asked, her face inscrutable.

"No. He's… dead. He threatened Caste with his gun, and I had to shoot him first."

"Oh," Kate's grandmother said, taking the information in. Then there was a savage glint reflected in her blue eyes, and she whispered in a ferocious tone, "Good."

The detective was floored by her reaction; and yet had she been asked to choose between this newfound rage and the cold, pretend indifference of ten years ago, she wouldn't have had a moment of hesitation.

"My daughter didn't die in a random mugging," Victoria murmured, sounding both stunned and strangely triumphant. "Is it terrible that it helps? I always thought she was way too good to die such an unfair, nonsensical death."

"I did too," Kate agreed quietly.

There was a lull in the conversation as Johanna's mother slowly processed all this new information.

"Hit man, you said. Does that mean you don't know who was behind her death, then?"

"Not yet, no."

The unspoken threat that lay beneath the words didn't go unnoticed by Victoria, and she looked at her granddaughter minutely.

"I'm guessing it must a pretty dangerous investigation."

Beckett shrugged, determined. A slow smile touched the older woman's lips.

"Just be careful," she said, "I'm sure she wouldn't want something to happen to you as well."

"I'm always careful," Kate replied, and the ghost of a smile crossed her face as she added, "and Castle will keep me from doing anything reckless."

"He cares about you."

The words, an uncanny echo to Jordan Shaw's, found their way to the detective's heart whether or not she wanted them to.

"I care about him too," she whispered, slightly afraid of how true that was.

"I'm glad," her grandmother said. Her blue eyes were soft and perceptive as she rested a hand on Kate's forearm. "Have a safe trip back, Katherine. And feel free to call, and to come back, please. I would love to hear from you."

"I will," Beckett assured her. "I will."

Then she turned and walked away, because goodbyes had never been her favourite thing; and from what she remembered, this was something she had actually had in common with Victoria Fields.

The talk with her grandmother sat heavily on her shoulders as she made her way to the car. Perhaps it was silly; but coming back here, telling Castle about her mom – she had been focusing on Johanna's life instead of her death, and it had been a welcome respite from the case she kept obsessing over in her free time. Telling Victoria… The darkness had just settled in once again. Silly, she thought. She was silly to think she could have kept it at bay.

Unwilling to burden the writer with this, she breathed in, deep and slow, and willed it back before she opened the car door.

"Letting me drive, Castle? That's sweet," she teased as she sat down behind the wheel.

"What do you think? I'm a man of my word," Rick sniffed haughtily.

Kate smirked and turned on the ignition, aware that the writer's eyes were still resting on her. After a moment, he asked, "You told her about your mother's case, didn't you?"

"I think she deserves to know," the detective replied guardedly.

"I couldn't agree more."

She gave him a surprised look; a small smile graced her features as she turned her attention back to the road. Beckett didn't need someone to tell her when she did the right thing; she was used to making her own decisions, and she had learned long ago to do without complimentary pats on the head. She was a grown woman, and an independent one with that. But that didn't mean it wasn't nice to have somebody ready to back you up no matter what the circumstances were. It had been so long since she had last allowed herself to really lean on another person.

"Good," she said softly.

They fell silent, their thoughts following parallel paths for a while before they parted ways. Castle had used the time she had spent talking to Victoria to make a playlist, and the songs were a perfect match for Kate's mood, slow and melancholy, with hints of harmonica and soothing voices. The writer looked uncharacteristically serious, staring at the landscape without really seeing it, and Kate wondered for a moment if this was a new side to him, or simply one that he didn't show at the precinct (he seemed to have made it his mission to ensure her life held some more light and laughter when he was around, and maybe thoughtful Castle didn't fit the criteria).

_He's a good man. He cares about you._

Her grandmother's words kept echoing in her mind, and an uneasy feeling, part anxiety, part discomfort, settled inside Beckett without her being able to tell why. She tried to dispel it, focusing on the road, on the lyrics of the song playing, but it lingered over her like a bad omen, a dark cloud that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to see through.

* * *

><p>They made a pit stop about two hours into their trip. Kate said she wanted coffee, when what she mostly needed was a break from Castle's fidgeting. He had made a few attempts at conversation, chatting away about Alexis and about how disappointed he was that the show Lie to Me had been cancelled (something about fascinating characters and hot actresses, but she hadn't really been listening), then had busied himself with his phone when he realized that she wasn't in a talkative mood.<p>

"You okay?" he asked in a too-neutral voice, when they got out of the car.

What answer could she give? She couldn't even pinpoint what it was that had her stomach in knots; much less share it with him.

"I'm fine, Castle," she answered evasively.

She left him to order coffee for them both, heading for the privacy of the women's bathroom.

Kate didn't know what was wrong, didn't know why this was happening now, when this morning all she had had to do was to look into Castle's blue eyes and feel warm and loved and content. Warm and loved and content was far away now, had sunk deep inside her, to an unreachable place blocked by the dark, huge rock of her fears and doubts and insecurities.

It wasn't just a single thing. It was realizing how lonely her grandmother's life was going to be now that Lily was gone (she couldn't even imagine what it'd be like, to have Rose left as your only daughter). It was that look on Mark's face when he had stared at the photograph, the photograph that showed him laughing with the woman he had loved and would never get back.

And it was Castle. He had said they would talk, but they hadn't really; and Kate wasn't sure if she dreaded or looked forward to that conversation. Maybe she just wanted to curl up in her bed and hibernate. Like bears.

Oh, yeah, Kate. Brilliant idea. Just hide away and wait for your issues to solve themselves.

With a frustrated groan, the detective hid her face into her hands. She was no writer. Had Castle been in her head, he would have known how to make sense of it all – wow, scary thought. Castle in her head? No. Most definitely a terrible idea.

_He's a good man. He cares about you._

Hadn't Josh been those things, too? Well, maybe not as big as Castle on the caring side; but still, Josh _was_ a good man, and she had broken up with him, and now she was here… with Rick. God, she had no idea what she was doing, had she? The problem was… The problem was to admitting to her feelings for Castle meant acknowledging that – that she had made a mistake by staying with Josh that long. That she had been unfair to them both. And Katherine Beckett had never been big on owning her mistakes.

_Well, maybe it's time to start, Katie._

Easier said than done.

Castle's smile when she walked back to him was a mixture of heartfelt and anxious, and it did nothing to soothe the detective's nerves. He made small talk while she drank, spinning crazy stories about the couple of guys who were leaning against the bar.

One of them was a CIA agent in disguise, if you listened to the writer; another one was the serial killer on the run that the agent had been chasing those past four months. The last one – the better-looking of the three – was a regular guy going home to his young but demanding wife, and he was bracing himself for the ordeal to come, nursing his whiskey.

Beckett was smiling by the time she sipped the last of her coffee, and when the writer suggested that he drive for a little bit, she actually considered his offer. At least, it would keep him from stealing glances at her every two minutes, like he had been doing before they stopped; and she would have more time to plan what she needed to tell him. _Coward_, suggested her Lanie-voice. _Shut the hell up_, her Kate-voice replied ferociously.

"Don't make me regret it, Castle," she said, dropping the keys in his large palm.

* * *

><p>Neither the driving, nor the scenery, as nice as it was – green present everywhere, lighting up whenever the clouds were good enough to leave the sun alone – could keep Rick's mind off this simple truth.<p>

They needed to talk.

The writer was very aware that so far, they had skillfully avoided anything approaching serious conversation about that brittle notion of a "them", and he had a dreadful feeling that if they didn't settle things before they got back to the city, everything would go horribly wrong.

Well, maybe it was his writer mindset considering all the worst scenarios. But still. Her silence was killing him; he would rather have her yelling than looking away with this pensive expression.

Castle glanced sideways at his partner. Girlfriend? It felt strange to apply such a commonly used term to Kate Beckett, belittling – she was so much more than that. Partner, yes, and best friend, and muse; very possibly the most amazing woman he had ever met. She was Kate. He had a vague idea that she deserved a word of her own, a new morsel of the English language that he would fashion for her with the greatest care, to express how very unique she was.

And she would shoot him down right this second if she had only an inkling of the direction his thoughts had taken.

Stealing another look at her, he noticed the familiar wrinkle between her brows. He knew that face; she was thinking hard. There was going to be some lip-biting involved any minute now.

When they were at the precinct, working long nights to close recalcitrant cases, that face meant that they were an inch closer to a reliable theory, possibly a decisive arrest, and Rick loved it all the more for it. When they were together in a car, however, and that the main reason she had to frown was the developing intimacy between the two of them? That face scared the shit out of him.

Okay. Enough of this – at this rate, he would have an ulcer by the time they got back to New York City.

He took the exit to the next rest area, preparing himself for the Wrath of Beckett. It was a testament to how far her thoughts had gone that she didn't immediately pick up on the change of direction. When she did, though, her eyebrows shot up and she shot him a perplexed look.

"Castle, what are you doing? We stopped like twenty miles ago."

He didn't answer, carefully avoiding her eyes. Kate's surprise turned into something near panic. She had a pretty good idea what this was about. She was not ready. She couldn't do this.

"Castle, turn around."

"I believe, my dear detective, that it would be not only a very dangerous but also a very illegal course of action."

Damn him and his ability to make light of everything. Kate pressed her lips together, trying to contain her mounting tension. She kept silent until he had parked a car next to a picnic area. It was empty – a combination of the late hour and of the grey weather, no doubt.

"What are we doing here, Castle?" She asked stubbornly, noticing that he had unfastened his belt.

"Let's get out of the car," he suggested with faked assurance, his mouth going dry when he noticed the way she had folded her arms over her chest. _Man up, Castle._

Rick could see Beckett's inner struggle – she wanted to say no, wanted to deny him anything he'd ask until he had explained himself; but at the same time she didn't want to waste any more time (she was itching to get back to the city, he could tell). In the end, she did get out, but her stiff posture screamed her annoyance and her discomfort.

_Now what?_ It seemed to say. Yeah, coercing Beckett into anything was definitely not the way to go about it. But she left him no choice. Castle took a deep breath, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then told himself to keep still. Everything he managed to get out was a single, glorious syllable.

"Talk."


	12. I'll Think of You Tonight

**A/N: **Wow. So. Good news is, I did finish the chapter on time :-) so, yay! It took a few detours to get where I wanted it to - Lanie invited herself along, then Martha did, too, and I couldn't really say no to either of them - but we're there, finally. Longest chapter ever. I guess you've noticed. I'd break it up, but since most of you said you didn't mind the length... Before I forget, the title is from the song "Slow Down", by New Moscow.

Ah, I'm getting all emotional now. Better let you read, I guess. I'll just say this: the response to this story has been wonderful, really, and I'll never be able to thank you guys enough. And if you're wondering, I might end up writing a sequel, just because I don't feel like abandoning those characters I've created. It will depend on my time and inspiration, so I make no promises; but it's a possibility. Special thanks, once again, to pat19btvs, who is to be credited for the idea of that last scene; to Whatarushh, for beta-ing this story, and to my friend Lucie. She knows why.

**Disclaimer: Castle, I'm sure you've guessed, isn't mine.**

* * *

><p>"Talk."<p>

It was so unexpected, so terse a declaration that Kate almost burst out laughing to his face. "Talk"? How long had he known her? Did he really believe that ordering her to open up was the way to go with her?

She stared at him, giving him her most intimidating look, and waited for him to lose countenance and back down.

He didn't. Instead his light blue eyes bore into hers, firm and yet gentle, but unwavering. God damn him; Kate found herself allured by this new persistence of his. And not just in an abstract way, either. The flare of warmth in her belly was unsettling, made her lift her chin in defiance.

"And what am I supposed to talk about, Castle?"

When his face darkened in response, she wondered if she had put a little too much fierceness in her voice. She hadn't exactly meant to. The writer took a step towards her, and she unwittingly stepped back, although her body buzzed in disapproval at her reaction.

"You're supposed to talk about whatever it is that kept you silent for most of the drive," he growled. "You're supposed to tell me what's causing that preoccupied expression, and more lip-biting than I've seen in a while."

He gave her a hard, guarded look, but she could see the dejection shining at the back of his eyes, and Kate's heart sunk. Only Richard Castle could make her go in a matter of seconds from angry at his assumptions to aroused by his caring to upset by his hurt.

She would have spoken then, but he didn't let her.

"You're just supposed to talk to me, Kate," he said in a quieter, sadder voice. "Or would you rather have us keep guessing and misunderstand each other? I thought we had been through enough of that to know better."

Oh, jeez. It brought last summer back to mind all over again, though Beckett suspected it he hadn't done that on purpose. Of course she didn't want him to go back to Gina or some bimbo, of course she wanted him to know what he meant to her, but… She anchored her gaze to a small daisy that, against all hopes, had thrived on the side of the road, and tried to find words.

"You don't want to do this anymore, do you?" Rick whispered.

The sad resignation in his voice made it impossible to stare at the daisy any longer, and Kate looked up at him, speechless with shock and indignation. How could he think…?

He stared back at her, somewhere between scared and hopeful, and Beckett wanted to slap him, or kiss him, maybe. She closed her eyes, cleared her throat, found her voice again.

"You really need to stop assuming things, you know? Castle… I do. I want to do this, I just… I don't know how. I don't know how you can trust me when I've spent all this time trying to fall in love with another man; laughing and building theory with you, and then going home to Josh at night. I just – you hurt me, when you left with Gina. I would have gone to the Hamptons with you."

Castle looked taken aback, shattered, but that wasn't Kate's goal, and she tried to ignore it, to stay focused as she went on, "But I think – I think I've been hurting you for a while, too, by refusing to see what was there. I mean…" Her smile was bitter, and she shook her head in frustration, "Obviously, I don't know what I want, Rick. And maybe you just…" She swallowed, hoping it would somehow make it easier to say the words.

"Maybe you just deserve better," she finished unwillingly, staring at her feet.

"I'm sorry?"

The look on his face was at the border between shock and hilarity. Oh, she would _not_ say it twice. He must have been aware of it on some level, because he went on, "This is crazy. Are you, Kate Beckett, actually telling me that I, Rick Castle, known playboy and man-child…"

"Oh, come on. We both know the playboy thing is no longer true," she opposed with surprising strength. "You said it yourself, how many dates have you been on these past few months? None. And you were with Gina before that."

He gaped at her for a good twenty seconds.

"You cannot be serious," he slowly stated after that.

"If I hadn't hurt you, then why would you be so eager to believe that I don't want to do this anymore?" She challenged.

"Because you're way out of my league?" Rick shot back immediately, sounding like he was stating the obvious.

Kate stared at him for a moment, her lips parted in disbelief.

"Oh."

That was ridiculous, but before she had time to voice that thought, he was speaking again.

"I – don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it was nice seeing you with Josh," (he shuddered theatrically at the thought, and she shook her head with a hint of a smile), "I'm not saying it didn't hurt… But I understand your reasons, Kate. I understand them a lot better than you think."

He was looking at her, into her, and she found that she couldn't look away. After a moment, though, he smirked, breaking the spell.

"_Better than you_," he huffed, referring to her previous statement. "Like that's even possible. Okay, okay," he quickly amended, seeing the look she was giving him, "maybe it's possible – _though I've never met in my thirty-nine years of life someone who fits that description_," he muttered under his breath, "but even if it is… It doesn't matter. I don't _want_ anyone else."

He made it sound like it was preposterous to believe otherwise. Kate was pretty sure her cheeks were a flaming red, if the warmth she felt was any indication. He knew about her mom's case, knew about the long hours at the precinct, knew how stubborn she could get. And he still _wanted_ her.

"But the Hamptons thing," Rick said in a more subdued voice, "_God_, Beckett, I –"

"Don't," she interrupted, shaking her head and trying to get the smile on her face to subside. "It's… We're good. At least, I'm good if you are."

Castle watched her for a moment, blue eyes thoughtful and assessing, before he nodded softly. "I never could say no to a beautiful woman," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Rick," she warned. As much as she enjoyed his light-hearted approach to things, this was for real.

"I'm good, Kate," he answered a little more seriously. Then the spark in his eyes was back in an instant as he took a step towards her, adding, "In fact, I'll show you just how good I am."

Out of habit more than anything else, Beckett rolled her eyes and stepped back.

"Is that really necessary? Let's just get back in the car. We still have a long way to go, Castle."

"Why, Detective Beckett, am I boring you?" he asked with a wolfish smile, advancing on her.

"At the risk of ruining all your carefully crafted fantasies," she quipped, "You actually are."

Retreating some more, Kate stumbled across a picnic table, and she swiftly circled it, putting a barrier between herself and her writer. He only looked amused.

"You do know what happens when you play with fire, don't you, Beckett?"

The husky note in his voice did things to her body, but she hid it with a smirk.

"Yes, my mother actually did warn me about that. But I don't see any flame around here, Rick."

Oh, she was _so_ going to pay for that. Her partner reached the table, his grin larger by the second, and started walking around it. For every step he took, the detective took one in the other direction – and some part of her (a rather big part, if she was honest) responded eagerly to being chased.

Caste picked up speed, tried to fool her by pretending to stop and change his course. Kate saw through it all, of course (subtlety was definitely not his thing); but while she was busy looking at him she was not really looking where she was going, and her jeans caught in a split of the wooden bench, making her lose her balance.

She would have managed to hold on to the table, had Castle not jumped at the opportunity to finally catch her; he collided with her when she turned unexpectedly, trying to jerk her pants free. Together they fell; and the most exquisitely feminine scream of the two didn't come from Kate.

Her shoulder took most of the fall, and the detective rolled on her back with a groan (it was hard to tell if it was due to the pain or to her partner landing on top of her, and effectively winding her).

"Get off me, Castle," she gasped, and he obeyed immediately, too stunned to make a joke. "Men," Kate sighed lightly, carefully trying to work her arm. "You tell them you love them and the next second they're all over you."

Wrist and elbow were perfectly functional; the shoulder hurt a bit, but it wasn't dislocated or anything. Good.

"You okay, Castle?" She asked, turning to look at him.

He was watching her, looking as dumb as she had ever seen him (she also noticed that his hair was mussed, and a button of a shirt was missing. Not that it turned her on or anything).

"Castle?" Beckett asked again, wondering what the hell was wrong.

"You love me," he stated softly, his eyes wide with shock.

Oh, that. Right.

Well, she couldn't exactly take it back now, could she? She tried to decide whether she was touched or insulted that he looked so disbelieving. Maybe a little of both.

She wasn't scared, she realized belatedly. Wow. Not even the tiniest bit of fear. That was something worth telling Lanie about. Kate got up and quickly checked the state of her clothes; a smile stretched her lips when she saw that Castle was still frozen in the same position.

"Get over it, Rick," she teased mercilessly. "It didn't exactly come as a surprise. Or do you think I'd tell the first idiot that he deserves better than me? I'm _awesome_, Castle," she said with a hint of haughtiness.

The author grinned – no argument there.

"What does that make me, then? I wonder," he mused with pretend thoughtfulness.

"Oh, no. Don't count on me to inflate that already well-sized ego of yours."

"I'm afraid you might have done that already," he said, fake apology written all over his face.

"Jeez, I'll never find sleep again." Kate shook her head in shame.

"Well, if you need help with that…"

Oh, she had kind of set herself up for this one, hadn't she? She met the writer's laughing blue eyes and couldn't help a smile.

"Why, do you know a good cure for insomnia?" The detective asked innocently.

Castle jumped to his feet and beamed at her. "I just might."

There was such a contrast between the childlike enthusiasm on his face and the innuendo contained in his words that Beckett actually laughed.

"Okay, Casanova. Are we allowed to get back to the car now?"

"No."

"No?" She lifted an eyebrow; and, just because Beckett had always been one to test the limits she was given, she took a few steps towards the SUV. Sure enough, a hand on her wrist stopped her, and Castle spun her back into his arms. She didn't exactly put up a fight.

"I'm going to kiss you first," he whispered, his eyes roaming over her hungrily.

"Oh, you're giving me warning now? How very –"

She didn't get a chance to finish that sentence; his lips were on hers, hard and hot, demanding, and suddenly it was much more important to give as good as she got, to meet his tongue with hers and let her hands tangle in his hair, than to bother with banter.

Rick was of another mind, it seemed, because when he released her he asked – or rather, breathed the question against her neck – "What were you gonna say? How very…?"

"– civil of you," she let out breathlessly, and they both laughed quietly, because "civil" was not the most appropriate description for the kiss they had just shared.

Castle's mouth found that incredibly sensitive spot, where her ear met her neck, and Kate gasped in surprise and pleasure. There was something she wanted to say, but it was hard to remember when he was so intent on distracting her. Ah, yes. Beckett put her hands on both sides of the writer's face, and she gently pushed him back to meet his eyes.

He didn't look too happy with the interruption.

"You can tell Alexis and Martha," she whispered, and a beautiful smile lit up his face at once when he realized what that meant. Rick leaned in to brush his lips against hers, and she let him for a few seconds, before she said, "But you let me handle the precinct, okay?"

"Okay," he growled, rubbing his cheek against hers.

"And no one else needs to know for now."

"Okay," he repeated, sounding like he just wanted her to stop talking.

"Is this how things are gonna go from now on?" Kate asked, laughter bubbling in her voice. "You're just going to agree with everything I say? Jeez, Castle, if I had known, I would have gotten together with you a long time ago."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she used his distraction to slid out of his embrace. The writer pouted, and she fought the urge to kiss it better. Instead, Beckett extended her hand, and said, "Give me the keys."

"What?"

"The car keys. Give them to me."

"But I'm driving," he whined.

"Not anymore," she asserted with a twinkle in her eye. "And certainly not if you make us stop every twenty miles."

"Are you saying it was a bad idea?" Castle asked gravely, going from his childish self to his adult one so fast that it made her head spin.

"No, Rick," she answered softly, with all the sincerity she could muster. "I think it may have been your best idea ever, in fact."

He looked relieved, pleased, and proud. The combination rather became him.

"But I'm driving now," Kate said, snapping out of it. "So give me the keys."

Castle groused a little, but he complied (it wasn't like he had ever really been able to refuse her anything). They settled back in the car, and when the writer's hand ventured to rest on Beckett's knee, she smacked it.

"You can look, but you can't touch. No distracting me while I'm driving, Castle."

Her partner looked at her like he had just been told there would be no Christmas this year.

"But we still have over a hundred miles to go," he objected.

"And the less distracting you are, the faster we'll get there," she shot back, hiding a smile.

Sulking, he sunk into his seat and stared through the window. _Big baby_, Kate thought. But even in her mind, it sounded much more affectionate than annoyed.

* * *

><p>Despite Castle's fears, time actually went by pretty fast.<p>

They had almost reached the Lincoln Tunnel when it started raining. What was, at first, only a light drizzle quickly turned into a downpour, making it difficult to see even the car ahead of them. Kate had slowed down considerably – she was not a fan of driving in the rain – and when they heard a rumble of thunder in a distance, followed by a flash of lightning, she muttered between her teeth, "Welcome back to the city."

Rick chuckled, but didn't look up from the text he was about to send Alexis.

Beckett returned her eyes to the road, and was glad she did; the truck in front of her came to an abrupt halt, and she braked – hard enough for their car to stop in time and avoid an untimely collision.

Her heart was racing when she finally dared to release her hold on the brake, and she could feel Castle's eyes resting on her.

"Sorry," she said quickly, vaguely annoyed that she sounded out of breath. "Didn't see that one coming."

His hand reached for hers, and despite her earlier threats, she didn't try to take it back. He squeezed gently, and she finally turned her eyes to him. Considering the traffic jam they were in, it was no longer a risk.

Rick smiled reassuringly at her, and said, "It's okay. We're all good."

Kate moistened her lips nervously. "I know. I just…"

"Don't," the writer warned gently. "You braked in time. We're safe. And even if you hadn't, we were going slow."

She nodded, letting his words permeate her conscience, ease her breathing. Castle still had her hand in both of his, and he started stroking it slowly, massaging her joints, following her long fingers with his, dropping a series of kisses inside her palm.

It was utterly relaxing. Kate let her head fall back against the headrest, closing her eyes. If she had been a cat, she thought, this would have been an appropriate moment to start purring.

"Don't tell me," she whispered. "Alexis wanted to take massaging classes when she was younger, and you went along."

He laughed. "Close enough. But it was my mother, actually, and I was a teenager with nothing better to do. I've always enjoyed learning new things."

Beckett smiled; she had no trouble believing that. It was one of the things she found the most endearing about him.

"On a more practical note," he added good-humouredly, "Traffic is moving again."

Oh. Kate's eyes snapped open and her hands went back to the wheel. She shot Castle a nervous glance, expecting him to tease her for getting so distracted; but he was looking ahead, a pleased, peaceful look on his face, and a responsive smile found its way to her lips.

As much as she enjoyed their usual back-and-forth, Beckett was grateful for the silent agreement they seemed to have reached. She pushed gently on the accelerator, and took the first occasion she got to pass the goddamn truck that blocked her view of the road.

* * *

><p>It was a little after six when they pulled over in front of Kate's building. Rick waited for her to turn off the ignition, his heart beating a little too fast considering this situation was, altogether, nothing new.<p>

Nothing new. Right. Who was he kidding? Everything was new. Everything was uncharted territory. Never before had they parked in front of her building to drop his – girlfriend. He _had_ to find a better word, but this one would do for now.

He was being the girl, wasn't he?

The writer turned to find Kate watching him with a light smile. Well, at least one of them was enjoying this.

"Wanna walk me up to my apartment?" She asked, and the tone she used – not quite inviting, not quite teasing either; just that of an honest question – told him that she, too, was trying to adapt to the freshness of it all.

"Sure," he answered quickly, and he bounced out of the car to open the trunk and grab her bag before she could get a chance to.

Beckett arched an eyebrow at him.

"Really, Rick?"

She was still calling him Rick. He loved that. When they'd been in Whitesboro, it had been part of their whole "let's not attract more attention to our already strange relationship" policy, and though she'd showed surprising ease with that, the writer wasn't sure if she would keep doing it when they got back. Oh, he sure enjoyed the way she called him Castle, but he kind of hoped that the two weren't mutually exclusive.

"Really, Kate," he said, unable to keep his grin in check.

She looked at him, chewing on her lower lip, assessing and adorable at the same time. Rick tried his best not to twitch and fumble with the strap of the bag. In the end, a corner of her mouth went up, as she seemed to reach a decision. There was a sparkle in her green eyes, and he couldn't quite decide what it was; amusement, maybe, or pleasure?

"Okay," she said, spinning on her heels and heading to the secured door of her building.

"Okay?" he echoed disbelievingly, once he had caught up with her.

"Don't think it's an all-time pass, Castle. This is just me choosing my battles. And you carrying my bag? Not worth fighting over."

She held the door for him, and he thanked her absentmindedly, rather pleased with the new information. She thought some things weren't worth fighting over. That was good to know. He'd need to make a list, of course.

The elevator got there quickly enough, and opened to reveal a _very _good-looking man – tanned, muscular, with blonde hair that seemed to have been ruffled by the wind (although Castle would have been curious to know where exactly the "wind" had come from). _The surfer look_, Rick thought disdainfully, with absolutely no jealousy at all.

"Hi, Kate," Mr. Surfer said as he walked out, flashing them both with a white-toothed grin.

Great. Toothpaste had just been added to the list of things the guy could advertise for, along with surfboards and aftershave. And tanning cream, the writer thought wickedly.

"Hello, Ben," Beckett answered amicably enough before she got into the elevator.

Castle followed her, gloating. Ben. Ha. He had nothing to fear. The doors closed, and Kate shot him a look that said, _Don't think I'm not on to you._

"What?" Rick asked innocently.

"Oh, I don't know. Where should I start? The fact you were staring at the guy so intently that I was afraid your eyeballs were going to fall off? Or the fact that you were so busy admiring his muscles that you couldn't even be polite and say hi?"

"Hey, he said, "Hi, Kate." My name not being Kate, unless it's been changed and I'm not aware – though I have no doubt my mother would be able to pull something like that on me – I believe _Ben_'s greeting wasn't addressed to me."

"Please. He smiled at both of us."

"And how do you know about his muscles, unless you were looking yourself, uh? That's not very nice, Detective Beckett, to be checking out other men when your…"

"Yes?" She turned to him, her eyes pools of serene green.

"When your, boyfriend, is around," he finished, cursing himself for hesitating.

Kate smiled like she was amused at a private joke, one he would have loved for her to share with him.

"A) I was not checking him out. He _was_ shirtless, and the muscles thing is not something you can miss. And B), as adorable as your jealousy is, I'm surprised at how blind you're being, Rick. Ben quite obviously plays for the other team."

She had lost him at "adorable", and it took a few seconds for the writer to catch on what she had said next.

"What? No way. My gay-dar is fabulous. There's no way I'd have missed this guy."

"Seems like you did. Or maybe I mistook the person Ben was heartily kissing in the hallway a week ago for a guy. But seeing as that person was over 6 feet, had pretty amazing abs and a whole set of very…masculine…traits, I think not."

"Okay, okay," Rick agreed hurriedly. "No need to say more. I'd rather have him gay than hitting on you, anyway."

Kate paused in the middle of unlocking her door and gave the writer a hard look.

"And what if he was hitting on me?"

Uh-oh. That light in her eyes meant trouble. Was he ever going to learn that thinking before talking was a question of survival?

"I… It's…"

His eloquence having seemingly deserted him, Beckett filled in the blanks.

"I'm more than able to say 'no' to a guy, Castle. And if he's being too insistent, I'm able to take him down, too."

He really was an idiot.

"Yes," he agreed quickly, trying not to make his case worse.

"So unless you think I'm some starry-eyed, naïve creature who falls for the first guy who wants her, I don't think we have a problem here."

"No, we don't."

Beckett studied him, her brow furrowed, until she seemed satisfied with what she saw. She nodded, relaxed a tad bit, and finished opening her door.

"I'll handle it from here," she said in a gentler voice, reaching for her bag.

Castle loosened his grip on it unwillingly, desperately racking his brains for a way to make it up to her.

"Do you have food at your place?" He asked eagerly. "You could always come and have dinner at the loft if you don't."

Oh, no. Now he was making it sound like she was unable to buy groceries and cook for herself. He opened his mouth to say something – anything – that would indicate his true meaning, but Kate rested her fingertips against his mouth, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Relief washed over him; she wasn't mad. Then her hand moved to cup his cheek, and relief was no longer at the forefront of his emotions. Her lips brushed against his, once, twice, and she stepped back. Tenderness made her eyes look greener.

"I'm good, Castle. But thanks."

"Anything you need," he whispered, steady and fervent. And they both knew he meant it.

Surprising herself, the detective dropped her bag to the floor and threw her arms around Rick's neck, pressing the length of her body against his, inhaling the scent that was _him_. She wasn't sure what drove her – a mixture of gratitude, love, and need – but she buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss to his clavicle, anxious from him to understand how much it meant.

He understood. The author rested his chin on the side of her head, nuzzled gently against the soft and dark waves of her hair. "I love you," he murmured, his voice tight with emotion. He felt her mouth curve into a smile against him.

"Sure you don't want to have dinner with me at the loft?" he asked again, thinking it was worth a shot.

"I'm sure. We could use some time apart, Rick. You may enjoy the big pile of mush we've just turned into, because you're such a girl; but _I_'m worth better than that."

"I'm the girl, uh?"

He lifted a quizzical eyebrow, glanced down at the part of his anatomy that indicated otherwise, then looked at her again. Beckett shook her head in amusement.

"Fine. _Emotionally_, you're the girl. Does that feel more accurate to you?"

"Mmh. I feel like I should argue, but it sounds like too much effort right now."

Kate laughed, and he relished the sound of it. Her trying to step away, however, he did not take so well (meaning, he tightened his hold on her like a little kid throwing a tantrum).

"Rick."

"Yeah?"

"Let go of me."

He didn't answer.

"If you don't, I'm going to hurt you."

She felt him waver, but still he didn't release her.

"You may not care about getting hurt, but think about me, Castle. Can you picture how traumatizing it would be to have our embrace ending in me physically hurting you? Not the right start for a relationship, I think. Not to mention the years of therapy I'd have to go through."

She felt, before she heard, the deep rumble of his laugh, and his arms finally loosened around her. The writer was trying to hide his grin, but he wasn't making a very good job of it.

"You win," he said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

There was a sparkle in his blue eye as Rick fought the urge to tease her back, and Kate decided that she was going to help.

"Go," she ordered, not unkindly, with a jerk of her head to the elevator.

He didn't seem very intent on moving.

"Go, Castle," she repeated, putting some authority in her voice. "You have some writing to do, if I'm not mistaken. And I…"

"You…?" he trailed, looking very interested.

"I have my own stuff to do, that I don't necessarily want to share with you."

He resorted to the puppy dog eyes, and Beckett rolled her eyes. She was never going to get rid of him.

"I need to call Lanie," she admitted reluctantly. "And she's going to kill me for not doing it sooner."

"Oh. Well, in that case… Have a nice death," Castle said brightly, finally moving in the elevator's direction. "And don't say mean things about me!" he added as an afterthought.

Kate watched the doors close, and wondered at the sinking feeling in her stomach. It had to do with the fact she hadn't eaten anything since lunch, surely. Yep, because it made no sense at all for her to feel lonely when she hadn't had a minute to herself today. She was just hungry.

Right.

* * *

><p>Richard ran into his mother on his way to the loft. Martha was looking rather bewitching, clad in a surprisingly sober, long black dress, her hair carefully done, and a delicate-looking shawl wrapped around her shoulders.<p>

"Hello, mother," Castle said, taking in her appearance after he had dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Going somewhere, aren't we?" He asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Oh, no need to make it sound so dirty, Richard," the diva said, lightly smacking his shoulder. "I'm going to a charity event that, apparently, every theatre big shot in New York is going to be at. The advisor I hired for the school suggested that some of my connections weren't quite young enough, or, how did he put it? Not "in the loop". Can you believe that?"

"So? Fire the advisor," the writer shrugged.

"Oh, honey," Martha said, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. "No wonder your relations with Black Pawn are so full of drama. You can't just fire someone because he's told you something true, even if you don't want to hear it."

"Can't you?" Her son asked innocently. "I guess I finally found out why Gina's still my editor, then."

"Richard," the red-haired woman chuckled, shaking her head. She checked the time, her graceful movement being, no doubt, intended to make him notice that she was wearing the watch he had given her for Christmas, and exclaimed, "Well, I must be off! Being fifteen minutes late should do just fine."

Before Martha had seen it coming, she was swept into a bear hug, despite her protests about the hours of efforts that had gone into that look.

"Really, kiddo," she sighed, before giving up and patting Rick's back a little.

It had been quite a while since her son had been so openly affectionate with someone other than Alexis.

"I take it the trip with Beckett went well, uh?" she teased, a knowing smile on her lips.

The arms around her tightened, and the actress felt a pang of relief and untainted happiness. She had started to lose hope on those two.

"If you're trying to break my ribs," she said dryly, "I think you're going just the right way about it."

Rick finally let go of her, and Martha patted his cheek, unable to keep her emotion from showing somehow.

"I'm happy for you. And just because I have to go doesn't mean that I won't want to hear every detail of that story later, mmh?"

"Sure, sure," the author waved her off, the silly grin on his face refusing to subside. "Go, dazzle all those people and show them that it's not about age. I'll wait up. Or not," he added with a laugh when he saw his mother's face. Apparently, she had already made other plans.

"You're a darling. Oh, and Richard?" She said as an afterthought. "Don't bother looking for that bottle of Château Yquem 1998. I found it."

"I'm guessing that means the bottle is now empty?" Her son inquired perfunctorily.

Martha flashed him a bright smile, and waved as she disappeared into the elevator.

"If it's any consolation, it was a tribute to your good taste!" She exclaimed before the doors closed.

The writer was more amused than upset. The bottle was one he had bought with Gina, during their honeymoon in France, and he didn't exactly need reminders of the way that particular story had ended. He had only been looking for it because Patterson had said something about being able to identify vintage wines when blindfolded, and Castle would have enjoyed proving him wrong.

Closing the door of the loft behind him, he went to his room and abandoned the small suitcase in a corner, planning on undoing it later. _Now what_? He thought. The large space felt a bit lonely when you had no one to share it with, and Rick couldn't get Kate out of his head – the way she laughed, the way she looked with her hair up, with her hair down; the way her body had felt this morning, warm and pliant in his arms.

He let himself fall back on his bed, his eyes closed, his mind full of Detective Kate Beckett. What he needed… Oh, he was being ridiculous. What he needed was a cold shower, and to call Alexis. There. What he needed was to _stop_ picturing Beckett waiting for him in the shower, her head cocked to the side, her eyes large and – yeah, that still needed a little work.

* * *

><p>The first thing Kate did, once she had dropped her bag beside her bed, was to strip out of her clothes and take a long, hot shower. It was what she hated most about long drives; no matter how clean you were at the beginning, no matter what clothes you wore, you always ended up feeling sticky and smelly (and Castle would have liked the alliteration).<p>

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she threw on sweatpants and a v-neck shirt, and tied her hair back. When she was tired, having strands of hair falling over her face drove her crazy.

Beckett inspected the contents of her fridge, throwing away an entire floor of the Styrofoam temple, and took out a few tomatoes. She considered ordering in – but pasta sounded good enough to her complaining stomach, and she filled a pot with salted water, turning on the gas.

Then, grabbing her phone and curling into her couch, she scrolled over her contact lists and found the person she was looking for.

"Hey, girlfriend," the familiar voice of Lanie Parish answered after a couple rings. "Haven't heard from you in a while. How did that trip upstate go?"

The first part of the sentence was not intended as criticism. Lanie and Kate had never been those friends who text each other constantly, gushing over a dress or that guy they've just walked past in the street that looked _exactly_ like Jude Law. They saw each other at work, more often than not; and they arranged for a girls' night at least once a month. That provided them with plenty of time to talk about whatever was new in their lives. They were always there if the other needed them, but they were also self-sufficient, independent women, and their relationship suited both of them the way it was.

"It went okay, actually," Kate answered. "Apart from a few lovely interventions from Emily…"

"The bitch," Lanie remembered in a threatening voice.

"Yeah, that one. Apart from her, it wasn't too awful."

_Thanks in no small part to Castle._

"What aren't you telling me?" the ME asked just as Beckett wondered whether to tell her more over the phone. Damn, Lanie was good. Sometimes Kate wondered if she hadn't missed her calling; she would have made a damn fine detective, in her friend's opinion. Not that Doctor Parish wasn't great as a medical examiner, though.

"I… Are you free tonight? Do you want to come over for drinks? I really don't feel like going out."

"Sure," Lanie answered slowly, sounding surprised. It was rare for Kate to set up last minute plans. "Javier's gonna watch the game anyway, and it's not like he needs help with that. I won't stay late though, plenty of bodies at the morgue waiting for autopsies these days. I'll try to make it home by midnight."

Kate was curious to know if 'home' meant Lanie's apartment or rather Esposito's, but she decided to save that particular question for later.

"No worries. I'm pretty tired myself. Come by when you can, okay?"

"I'm walking out of the precinct right now. Give me time to go home, shower and change, and I'm all yours. I'll be an hour, tops."

"Great. See you then," Kate said, and she hung up with a smile. She couldn't _wait_ to see Lanie's face when she told her about Castle. Rick.

Mmh. Maybe she'd need to train in front of the bathroom mirror and make sure she didn't have a silly grin on her face every time she said his name. One couldn't be too careful.

* * *

><p>Castle hung up the phone with his daughter, feeling rather pleased with himself. He had not caved – no matter how many comments and inquiries Alexis had made on how cheerful he sounded, he hadn't told her the true reason why he couldn't stop beaming more than ten seconds.<p>

Oh, it wasn't that he didn't want her to know. He did. He felt so confident about his daughter's reaction that he couldn't wait to see the smile on her face. And that was exactly why he had remained vague; she was coming home tomorrow night, and he could wait until then. He just _needed_ to see her face when he told her that he and Kate had finally, _finally _taken that leap.

It didn't feel real; he wished, not for the first time, that Kate had taken him up on his dinner invitation. Of course, he could understand why she'd need some space, after spending two whole days in his company – but he needed her close, needed to be able to check that it was true, that it was happening.

_Find something to do_, the more rational part of his mind asserted, sounding slightly bored with the nine-year-old part of him. Find something to do. Right.

Dinner! He could make dinner. Now that he thought about it, his stomach had been rumbling during his phone call (loud enough for Alexis to hear and laugh at him, in fact). Dinner would keep him busy. Some very, very elaborate dish. His special vegetable lasagna, maybe? Slicing up the vegetables would definitely take some time; but it was a bit risky in his current, distracted frame of mind.

Would Kate like his vegetable lasagna?

No. Cooking. That's what he needed to focus on right now. Vegetable lasagna would do; Alexis was very fond of it, and since the recipe was intended for six to eight people, there would be leftovers tomorrow when she got home.

Where the lasagna had failed, the thought of his baby girl did not; and Rick opened the fridge with a smile, picturing his daughter seating next to him and enthusiastically assenting to his suggestion. God, he couldn't wait to see her.

* * *

><p>"So you broke up with Josh and didn't tell me," Lanie said, looking at her friend over the rim of her wine glass. "You sneaky little thing."<p>

Kate smiled somewhat sheepishly, taking a sip of her own drink.

"And there's more," the medical examiner surmised, narrowing her eyes at Beckett. "Girl, you better not make me beg."

The detective took her time, savoring the fruity taste of the red wine while mentally choosing her words.

"Okay," she finally let out. "So, you remember I was planning to leave Monday afternoon, have the Captain reassign the boys and send Castle home to write?"

"Yeah… And isn't that what you did?"

"Well, I tried. Castle wouldn't go home."

"Big surprise there," Lanie snickered.

"And he... actually offered to come along."

"Come along? As in, join you for the five-hour drive and the family reunion with people you hate and haven't seen in the last ten years?"

"No, come along as in, come back with me to my apartment and help me pack. Duh."

Kate rolled her eyes, vaguely annoyed at the disbelief written all over her friend's face.

"Wait. Wait. You telling me this would only make sense if you had answered something else than a big fat 'no'. Did you answer something else than a big fat 'no'?"

_Don't blush don't blush don't blush_, Beckett thought, but the tingle of warmth in her cheeks told her that it was a lost fight.

"Katherine Beckett," Lanie threatened. "Dish. Now."

"Okay, so maybe I took him up on his offer," Kate said quickly, like she was ripping a Band-Aid.

"You did _not_," the dark-skinned woman gasped. "You actually allowed Richard Castle to sit on a car with you for five hours straight – ten, if you include the drive back – and introduced him to your family? Oh my god," she said excitedly, "This _cannot_ possibly get any better. Unless the two of you shared a room."

The large green eyes flickered downwards before they came back to meet Lanie's determinedly, and that told the medical examiner everything she needed to know.

"You _shared a_ _room_? Girlfriend, you had better not be raising my hopes up for no reason. If nothing happened, I swear, I'm gonna make you hurt."

Kate smiled slyly. "There should be no need for such violence."

The ME's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her face – it was a rather entertaining sight.

"You…" Lanie shook her head. "Are you really going to make me pry the information out of you? At the rate it's going, I might have a heart attack before we get anywhere. More wine, maybe?" she offered after a pause, with a devious grin.

Beckett laughed. "How can I resist such a well-meaning offer?" She asked sarcastically, holding out her glass for her friend to pour.

Then she settled back into the couch, well aware that the medical examiner was still staring at her expectantly. She took one more sip, one more breath, before she started again.

"So. He actually suggested that we take his car, arguing it was more comfortable and everything; but he did let me drive. And he didn't even ask where exactly we were going, Lanie. Didn't know the name of the town or anything. He just…trusted me."

A knowing smile played on Lanie's face. It was no surprise to her that Richard Castle fully trusted Kate Beckett, but it made for a nice change that Kate herself was conscious, and accepting, of that fact. The small, curvy woman nestled in the armchair that she had gotten used to claim as her own, whenever she came over to Kate's, and rested her chin on her knees, getting ready for the rest of the story.

It was a story that she, admittedly, had great hopes for.

* * *

><p>Rick put his wine glass down on the coffee table (it wasn't as pricy a wine as the one his mother had downed, but it would do for tonight), then settled comfortably in the couch before he reached for his laptop. He checked his emails quickly – he had a message from Meredith saying that she was coming to New York for an audition that he quickly dismissed; she sent about four of these a month, but somehow she always failed to show up. He wasn't complaining. When Alexis was younger, after Meredith had disappointed her twice with false news of her coming, he had made a deal with his ex-wife that she would always let him know him first, and leave him to share the information with their daughter.<p>

He liked it much better this way; but he'd never completely forget his little girl's tears, and he'd never completely forgive Meredith, either.

Dismissing her from his thoughts, he decided to focus on the much more appealing topic of Detective Kate Beckett.

_You have to write_, she had told him.

He opened a new Word document, stared at the white page for a minute. The case Nikki was working on was almost closed, but Castle felt like it lacked one more twist; something that would surprise the hell of his readers, when their guard was down. He remembered Kate standing in the cemetery, tall and slender in her black dress, surrounded by the family she hadn't seen in so long.

Maybe Nikki was going to get a surprise visit from a long-forgotten cousin, he mused. Maybe that cousin would take a little too much interest in Rook, and of course Nikki wouldn't want to admit that she's jealous, because that would be admitting that Rook means more to her than she's ready for. Oh, yeah. And the cousin turns out to be linked to the case – but Heat doesn't have solid evidence tying her to it, and she's perfectly aware that if she accuses the woman without a _very_ good reason, everyone will think she's losing it. Well, maybe not Rook, but it's a risk Nikki isn't ready to take.

Before he knew it, Rick was furiously typing away, the real-life Kate having for a moment retreated at the back of his mind, leaving the lead to her fictional alter-ego.

* * *

><p>"And you know the worst? My grandmother all but fell in love with him."<p>

Kate was half-lying on the couch, a foot still resting on the hardwood floor, the other propped up on a cushion. She had set her glass down; the bottle was empty, and though Lanie had brought another one, Beckett thought she had done enough drinking for the night. She felt good: warm, relaxed, slightly tipsy. She wanted to stay that way.

"Your grandmother, the Ice Queen?" her friend asked, surprised.

"Yep, that one. Thawed in a matter of seconds. You know how charming he can be, when he wants to."

"Oh, I know that alright. I'm surprised _you_'re willing to admit it."

Kate shrugged gracefully. _Some things are bound to change_, that shrug said, and Lanie was perceptive enough to understand that.

"Anyway, you should have seen them together. Jeez, Lanie, he _kissed her hand_ when we said goodbye. I was almost jealous."

The medical examiner laughed and rested her head on her hand.

"Don't you dare complain. Do you know what Javier Esposito said to my parents when he first met them?"

Beckett lifted an eyebrow, looking quizzically at her friend.

"No?" Lanie said sarcastically. "Well, me neither. Every time I've invited him to some sort of family event – and you know me, it's not like there's one of those every week – he's managed to talk his way out of it. Urgent business at the precinct, celebrating his sister's birthday at his folks'. So, you see, I'd take a hand-kissing Castle over that any day."

Kate was left picturing Castle kissing the hand of Lanie's mom (whom she had only met once, and had resolved on avoiding for the rest of her life) and she giggled. Actually giggled. Yep, it was definitely time to slow down on the wine.

The dark-skinned woman looked at her friend with soft eyes, silently rejoicing in her happy looks. She thought over Beckett's tale, and gave a little laugh of her own, shaking her head.

"Only you two," she said emphatically, "would pick a funeral to finally get all romantic."

"Says the woman who mentally undresses one of my team over every, single, dead body we catch."

"That's not true!" Lanie exclaimed, her face a picture of innocence. "Some of them are married."

* * *

><p><em>Jameson Rook rushed into his apartment building and slammed the door behind him. The lights in the lobby had blown – he had heard a neighbour complain about it when he left this morning – and he welcomed the darkness, retreating in the shadows. Rook let out a sigh of relief as the guy who had been following him walked past the building, and he started towards the elevator. <em>

_OK, maybe that creepy man with his miserable-looking dog hadn't been dangerous, but Rook didn't enjoy being followed any more than the next guy._

_He smirked, thinking of how Nikki would have made fun of him for the way he overreacted. _"So, the war-zone reporter's afraid of a homeless man and his famished dog, uh?" _Well, it wasn't like he needed to tell her. Thinking of Heat, of course, brought to mind their earlier fight and the way she had stormed out, and a crease of worry between his eyebrows quickly replaced the smirk on the journalist's face._

_He felt that he knew her pretty well, by now; and yet she kept slipping through his fingers when he least expected it. Unpredictable. Instinctive. Fenced in. Those were qualities of Nikki he had come to appreciate (and maybe more, but Rook had never put much trust into the L word); and yet they were not making his life any simpler. _

_He was busy trying to figure out a way to make things better when the elevator doors opened, which is why he didn't immediately notice that someone was waiting for him, leaning against the door of his apartment._

_Someone who wore ridiculously high heels, form-fitting jeans and a leather jacket. Someone who was watching him guardedly, her eyes as mesmerizing as ever. Someone who, he knew, had a police badge tucked in her pocket, and a gun at the ready. _

_Rook's heart gave a little squeeze. Nik._

Rick Castle's fingers stilled above the keyboard, lingered there for a moment, and finally landed into his hair as he yawned and stretched his legs. He had written over fifteen pages, and he was rather satisfied with the way his new idea was coming along. It fit the original plot like a glove – a coincidence or a manifestation of his unconscious genius? Surely it was the second.

Castle stood up, took a few steps around to relax. He tended to slump when he wrote, crowding his laptop in a way that Alexis deemed creepy ("or maybe just sad, I don't know," she had said pensively last week, tilting her head and looking at him with her clear blue eyes). His eyes fell on his empty glass of wine, long ago forgotten, and he bent to retrieve it and bring it back to the kitchen.

The bottle still sat on the kitchen island, and after a second of hesitation, the author poured himself another drink. After all, he had been working non-stop for the last four hours, and he deserved it. He wanted to give himself half an hour before he gave a second look to the pages he had come up with; drinking was as good a way to fill that time as any.

Reaching for his cell phone in his pocket, he checked it in what he hoped was a casual way. No new messages.

Should he text her? Call her? Leave her well alone? It was eleven thirty. Surely she hadn't gone to bed already? He sighed, looked at the screen uncertainly. He pocketed the iPhone back. Took it out once more. It was like being fifteen all over again, except that at the time his phone was nowhere near this fancy. Wait. He didn't have a phone when he was fifteen, did he?

His fingers, the sneaky little bastards, had taken a life of their own and had started typing. _You awake?_ The text said. Ha. Pathetic. He went to erase it, but his thumb hit 'send' out of habit, and since his mind was half busy trying to remember how he stayed in contact with the girls he liked as a teenager, the damage was done before he realized it.

Castle looked at his phone mournfully, knowing full well it was no use to try and take that text back. Now he just had to wait for an answer.

* * *

><p>Lanie had put on some music – a CD that Kate had no idea she even had – and the second bottle of wine had been opened, in spite of Beckett's objections. It sat on the coffee table, three-quarters full, having lost the interest of both detective and medical examiner moments ago.<p>

Kate was playing with her empty glass, a slow smile on her lips, listening to her friend's hilarious anecdotes about what life with Javier Esposito was like. No one she had ever met could match Lanie's knack for sarcasm; Beckett's tummy almost hurt from too much laughing.

A comfortable silence settled as both their minds started to wander. There was one thing that the dark-haired detective had kept from her best friend; partly because it was a treasure she wanted to keep to herself, partly because she hadn't really gotten an occasion to say it. But now, in the half-light of her living-room, with the night obscuring the windows and making it feel like they were alone in the world, it felt right.

"He told me that he loves me, Lanie."

The ME's brown eyes widened; she didn't have to ask who Kate meant.

"Did he, now?" she asked, half-frightened, half-hopeful. She still remembered the panicked call she had gotten when Josh had said those three crucial words – panicked and hushed, because Beckett had been standing in the handsome surgeon's bathroom. No, Kate Beckett had never been very good at dealing with impromptu love confessions.

So why did she look so damn serene at the moment?

"And?" Lanie urged anxiously.

Kate laughed quietly and let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling.

"And it… I don't know, it felt like the last piece of a jigsaw coming into place, you know? Like it – grounded me. It was strange."

"You didn't freak out? You didn't hide?"

There was a certain amount of disbelief in the other woman's voice, but the incredulous smile on her lips spoke volumes on its own.

"Maybe I did. Just a little bit. But he makes me… Not want to hide, Lanie. I have no idea how he does it."

The detective bit her bottom lip and hummed thoughtfully. Then she realized her friend was being uncharacteristically quiet, and she turned her head to look at her.

Lanie Parish was watching her with a mixture of relief and joy, and – wait, was that a tear in her eye?

"Are you crying?" Kate asked before she could think better of it.

She watched as Lanie's hand flew up to her face and back, quicker than a small bird.

"Of course not," the coroner asserted firmly. "I've been staring into your damn lights for too long, that's all."

"Those are energy-saving light bulbs," the detective observed with a smile.

"So? They're just as blinding as any others."

The warm brown eyes were daring Kate to say more, and she changed the subject quickly enough. "You two are official, then?"

"You could say that," Beckett answered, playing absentmindedly with a thread coming loose on the cushion she was holding.

"That's…"

Amazing? Wonderful? Or did any of those things sound too fangirly? Before the ME had had time to decide, her friend offered in a neutral voice, "Fast?"

It was like walking on a minefield, Lanie felt – one word wrong and the fragile confidence that Kate had built over the idea of a relationship with Castle would tumble down.

"Do _you_ feel like it's too fast?" She asked concernedly.

The detective sighed.

"It doesn't _feel_ like it. My brain keeps telling me it should."

"Honey, maybe it's time for that brain of yours to shut up, you know? If we're honest, girlfriend, this has been three years in the making. And it's not like there's an "official couple timeline" we've all got to follow. You just have to adapt. Hell, I'm practically living at Javier's right now, and it's only been six months. Am I scared? Course I am. But does it feel right? You bet."

Beckett smiled a little, pleased that things were going well for those two. And she had to admit that what Lanie said made sense.

"We haven't even been on a date," she pointed out, curious to know what her friend would say to that.

"Depends on your definition of a date," the coroner shot back smartly. "And, seriously, girl? Dates are overrated."

Kate pictured Castle in a dress shirt, holding flowers with the lopsided smile she liked so much; Castle sitting in front of her in a classy but low-key restaurant, suggesting that she taste his order, and she silently disagreed. But Lanie did have a point. They didn't need dates to learn to know each other. At the stage they were at, dates were more of a luxury. A luxury the detective wished for, yes (and she had no doubt that the writer, being the romantic that he was, wanted it too) but she already knew.

She already knew she'd have fun; she already knew they'd fight, and make up, and probably fight again, because they could both be so goddamn stubborn. And she knew he'd make her feel alive, and cherished, and listened to.

Those were things Richard Castle was pretty good at.

Lanie took off not long before midnight – she had to be in the morgue early in the morning, since bodies kept dropping at an alarming rate. She didn't hug Kate, but she did squeeze her hand; which, on the ME's scale, was about just as big.

Beckett saw her off, slightly envious that she was going home to her boyfriend; then she became aware of it and shook the feeling away.

Closing the door, she looked around for her phone, and her brow furrowed when she didn't find it. Oh, her bedroom. She had left it in her bedroom after calling Lanie. It was rare for the detective not to keep her phone close; but she wasn't on call, and she had been more focused on other things tonight. Retrieving the phone, Kate saw that she had two messages. At least Prudence hadn't tried to call, she thought with some relief and a twinge of guilt. The first text was from Ryan, informing her that they had closed the case and that she had been right – the wife had been involved, though she wasn't the killer. She had hired a "professional" thief to steal the things she wanted to keep out of the divorce settlement; husband had come early, thief had gotten scared and shot him.

The detective read this with mild interest, eager to get to the other text, the one that had Castle's name on it. She opened it and read, _You awake?_

She pressed her lips together, then realized she was alone and didn't need to hide her smile. Checking the reception time, she saw that she had gotten the text over half an hour ago. Mmh. She wondered what he was doing now, and hoped he wasn't overreacting to her lack of an answer. Kate remembered with some uneasiness the look on his face when he had asked, "You don't want to do this anymore, do you?"

Damn. She could simply text him back, right? Biting the inside of her cheek, Kate looked up at the clock on the wall. Ten past twelve. Could she show up at his door at ten past twelve?

More importantly, was this anything other than a terrible idea?

Oh, fuck off, she told the voice of her conscience. So what if she wanted to see Castle? They were both adults, for god's sake. Their choices were theirs, and only theirs. She didn't have to follow a stupid "don't call him back before three days" rule. It was _Castle_, and she was going to see him tomorrow anyway.

There was no time to change; if she opened her drawers, Kate knew she'd start reconsidering. The detective threw on a jacket, grabbed her phone and keys, and glanced, undecided, at her badge and service weapon. Chances were she wasn't going to need them tonight. She slammed the door behind her – her neighbour, Mrs. Peterson, would yell at her whenever she got a chance, but at the moment Beckett couldn't have cared less.

* * *

><p>When his pride had overcome his idea that staring at his phone may help bring him a message from Kate, Castle went back to the couch and started proof-reading his recent production. A couple of typos were quickly corrected; some sentences got reshaped, and he deleted a few paragraphs with a wince; but on the whole, Rick wasn't unhappy with what he had written. He hoped Gina would feel the same way.<p>

He was getting to the end of it when someone knocked on his door. Still absorbed in the reading, Rick answered absentmindedly, "Coming!" His mother had probably forgotten her keys again, he surmised. He deleted a semi-colon that had no business being where it was, then got up to open the door.

It wasn't Martha, his brain noted belatedly, as he tried and failed not to gape at Kate Beckett standing on his doorstep, her hair in a messy bun, her clothes pretty much the same as his – sweatpants and a t-shirt – her eyes wide and nervous.

It seemed like reality was taking fiction as a model, he thought, vaguely amused. He had just been writing about Rook finding Nikki on his doorstep, and here was Kate showing up on his, Richard Castle's.

Except reality was a whole lot better than fiction, because in reality he got to yank Kate inside, breathe in her wonderful smell, rid her of her coat and bury his face into that place where her neck and her shoulder came together in an graceful line. He got to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, crowding her – and maybe he had fallen asleep while writing and this was just a dream, after all, because she didn't even try to make him let go.

* * *

><p>Kate didn't move, didn't say a word, stunned by the sudden contact, the warmth of Castle's body, the little puffs of air he let out, hot and heavy against her skin.<p>

For a minute, standing at his door, she had thought he had gone to bed and she'd get no answer; but when he had come out she had realized she was not ready for the sight of him wearing a dark, fitting t-shirt that showed off his nice chest, with his hair adorably ruffled and his blue eyes shining attractively. She had been utterly unprepared, and she had felt silly, standing there without words, like they were suddenly back at square one.

And then he had grabbed her, pulling her in without meeting any resistance, and he had…wrapped himself around her. She couldn't think of a better way to put it. It wasn't even sexual (okay, scratch that – it wasn't _overtly_ sexual, but it was still close contact between her and Castle); it was sweet, familiar and appeasing. Like he was reassuring himself that they were real, that this thing between them wasn't a figment of his imagination. Kate didn't _need_ the reassurance (talking to Lanie had made it real enough) but she took it all the same, rubbing her cheek slowly against his hair.

He had surprisingly soft hair, for a guy – Josh's hair, on the contrary, _looked_ soft because it was dark and sleek, but it was disappointing to the touch. And she had just compared Rick's hair to Josh's. That was creepy. _Creepy, Kate_. And wrong.

"Are you alone?" she asked, needing a distraction.

He grumbled something that sounded like a yes. Shit, Kate thought. She had kind of hoped that Martha would be there. Not that she wanted to see Martha – it would have been a lie to pretend otherwise – but the actress's presence would have provided some sort of safety catch.

Oh, well. Beckett noticed the laptop sitting on the coffee table, and she drew back an inch or two, trying to meet Castle's eyes.

"Have you been writing?"

He loosened his hold on her a notch, gave her a warm smile.

"As a matter of fact, I have. And before you ask, no, you don't get to take a peek."

"Like you could keep me from taking one if I wanted."

"Maybe I could," he answered with a sly smile. "My methods may not be exactly traditional, but…"

Kate wasn't fast enough to hide the aroused look that crossed her eyes when he deliberately trailed over the words, to his delight. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, too, making her even more beautiful in the dim light. Had she been drinking? He wondered idly. That would make sense – not that he didn't enjoy having Kate Beckett show up on his doorstep at night (quite the opposite, really) but he wasn't expecting it. Then again, that was the beauty of the whole thing, wasn't it?

She was always unexpected.

"Did you talk to Lanie?" Rick asked, feeling like he was in charge of the conversation, and reluctantly stepping back from Kate.

"She came over," Beckett replied with a smile.

"Ah," Castle said, not altogether surprised. That explained the drinking. He'd never seen Kate intoxicated, he thought with some interest; he had only ever seen her a bit tipsy, like she was tonight – more flirtatious than usual. "Should I be worried?" he asked teasingly, referring to their girl talk.

"Should you?" the detective shot back mysteriously, and her look was a cross between _Mind your own business _and _Where is that ego of yours?_

She was incredible. "Guess I shouldn't. You're here."

He stopped in time; "it's the only thing that matters" would have been the next thing to come out of his mouth. She watched him with a half-smile, swaying on her feet a little, and he wondered if that was the signal for _take off my clothes now you idiot_. Probably not. She had told him to stop assuming things, after all – but on the other hand, it _was _after midnight, and she was standing in front of him, looking much too sexy for her own good.

Before he realized it, his hand had reached for her hair tie and let the dark curls tumble down on her shoulders. He loved her hair down. God, he loved her hair long. It suited her, brought out her clear, sharp, wide-eyed beauty.

Rick had to clear his throat and look away.

"Want to stay here tonight?" he asked before he could help himself, and just in case she chose to misunderstand him, he added, "Plenty of room. Empty rooms, too."

He wanted it to be clear that it was up to her, really, one way or the other. The writer would have been content just to stand there all night, as long as he got to gaze at her.

Kate wavered. If she stayed, she wouldn't be staying in an "empty bedroom". That much she knew. And it probably wouldn't be the end of the world if they slept together tonight (her body enthusiastically seconded that proposition). But Beckett had taken a philosophy class in college, and she was no stranger to the notions of desire, satisfaction and deferred gratification.

She kind of liked what they had now; she didn't mind making that game last a while longer. And if this was to be her last first time ever… Oh, boy. Castle was rubbing off on her with his 'always' and his declarations of love. Think small, Kate. So, deferred gratification.

From the look on the author's face, that wasn't exactly what he was into.

"No," she answered at length, and she felt a little sorry when she saw his disappointed pout. "I don't have any clothes here, and I have to be at the precinct early tomorrow. And my bed misses me," Kate added innocently.

The pout disappeared and Rick's eyes twinkled.

"That's a feeling I can relate to," he whispered seductively.

"Really, Castle? I'm standing right in front of you."

"Not right now, silly. I'm just saying, in general, missing you is a feeling I can relate to."

He grinned charmingly, and Beckett was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes. He could be so goddamn sappy.

"I'm never gonna get to be the girl in this relationship, am I?" she asked, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

Rick looked a bit insulted (even though his heart had leapt to hear her say the word "relationship" so lightly, knowing she was referring to the two of them, together) and he said thoughtlessly, "Hey, I'll let you be the girl. When you're pregnant."

Kate's eyebrows went up, and the writer looked down at his feet, suddenly wishing there wasn't a direct connection between his brain and his mouth. He even blushed a little; and he looked so sheepish that Beckett actually smiled.

"Nice, Castle," she said laughingly. "Very smooth. Is that what they taught you in _How to Scare a Girl 101_? And since we're at it, anything else you want to mention? I don't know, wedding rings, engagement party? No?"

He shot her a baleful look, but a corner of his mouth went up as he stared at her in wonder.

"I'm never letting you go," he murmured, sounding like he was addressing himself rather than her. She answered anyway.

"Careful, Rick. A girl might hold you to that."

There was a smile in her voice, a teasing light in her eyes, but he chose to take the words seriously. Well, _almost_ seriously.

"Please do," he said. "Feel free to _hold me_ anytime."

She wanted to laugh, but something in his expression stopped her. Castle's face was dark and intense, and Kate felt herself moving forward, almost hypnotized. He had settled against the back of the couch, which meant that even with the flats she had slipped into in her hurry to leave her apartment, they were about the same height.

He watched her come to him, his eyes welcoming, but the rest of his body completely still. He was letting her do all the work, she thought, and a smile briefly touched her mouth. He lifted an eyebrow, silently asking what was funny; but she shook her head. There was only a few inches left between them; talking was the last thing she wanted to do.

Kate let her hand curl over his cheek, leaned in and pressed her lips to his, taking her time. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his upper lip, then the bottom one; and when she reached the other corner, she opened her mouth and gave a flicker of tongue, delighted by the shiver she felt run through him.

Rick parted his lips, mirroring her actions, but he still didn't take command. He was simply responding to her. Kate breathed in and out into his mouth, moist, shaky breaths; and it felt like the single, most erotic thing she had ever done. _Oh, God_, she thought, when her chest tightened almost painfully as her tongue traced the roof of his mouth, excruciatingly slow. This was too much. He was too gentle, too careful; she couldn't take it. And yet her body soared at the soft, barely-there touch, at the control he was giving her. What was it that Natalie Rhodes said? Less is more?

Oh, yes, she thought dizzily, losing herself in the kiss, less was more. Something that Josh, despite his incredibly talented hands and mouth, had not learned. Oh, shit. She didn't want to be thinking about Josh – what was wrong with her?

The conversation with Lanie came back to her. Maybe they _were_ going too fast. Maybe it was too soon. She didn't want to be thinking about Josh, but she couldn't help it.

She would wait. She would wait until Castle was the only one in her mind, in her heart – from the way things were going right now, it wouldn't take long. Rick deserved it; hell, they _both _deserved it.

She hummed happily when his tongue came out to dance with hers languidly, and Kate let herself enjoy it for a moment before she braced herself, placing a hand on his chest, intending to push herself away. Castle couldn't read her mind, though, and he interpreted it differently.

Kate realized how much he had been holding back when he unleashed the full force of his passion on her – the author propped himself up, towering above her, his hands coming up to rest on both sides of her neck and tangle into waves of hair. Oh, she thought as his kiss went from leisurely to deep and demanding in a split second, as his body pressed, hard and hot, against her. Oh.

He had her backed against the kitchen counter before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, and she couldn't do anything but answer fire with fire, teasing with teasing. His teeth grazed her soft mouth, and she bit on his lower lip playfully; the sound he made had her writhing against him. His hands left her neck to travel south and Kate gasped. _What a brilliant idea not to put on a bra, girl._ The t-shirt she wore was an old one, and the silky fabric had become thinner over the years – so much so that the feel of his thumb on her breast was as sharp as if she had been naked.

She moaned and let her head fall back, and Rick feasted on the expanse of skin she offered on doing so, licking, kissing and sucking at neck, shoulder, clavicle – anything he could his mouth on. Why again had she wanted to stop? Kate's heart was pounding wildly in her chest, and she just wanted him closer – _closer_ –

Whether she had actually spoken the words, or he just felt the same way she did, Castle ground his hips against hers, sliding a knee between her legs, and applying pressure where she needed it most. Kate whimpered – goddamn whimpered – and she wrapped her arms around his neck, brining his mouth down to meet hers, impatient, needy, desperate.

Overwhelmed. She was overwhelmed. She just wanted – she wanted… "Oh," she breathed as one of his hands found its way under her shirt, stroking the smooth skin of her hips. Josh had always said this spot was softer than any other.

Crap.

Kate's eyes flew open as she suddenly remembered why she had meant to leave. Too soon. But she wanted him _so bad._ The detective made a small noise of frustration at the back of her throat, and Castle, picking up on it, on her hesitation, asked breathlessly, "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, and he drew further back, anxious to meet her eyes. Beckett's whole body mourned the loss of contact. Her eyelids were shut, because she was working furiously on regaining her control, but when Rick called her name softly, she just had to look at him.

It was bad. He looked so…ridiculously attractive, with his hair sticking out in every direction, his eyes still dark from wanting her, his lips parted in an unspoken question. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him again, but somehow she refrained, tracing his jawline with her fingertips, light and gentle, while she waited for her heart to slow down.

"I love you," she whispered when she had the control of her voice again, and the words surprised them both. Beckett watched in wonder as shock, then joy, then tenderness filled his eyes. "But when we do this," she went on, flashing him a sexy little smile just because she could, "I want it to be only you in my mind, Rick. And right now, it's just…a little too soon," she breathed out. She couldn't be more explicit; she didn't want to hurt him. He understood her too well, anyway; and his face darkened as he caught her meaning.

Kate let her hands slide from his shoulders, but Castle caught them before they had gone all the way back to her sides, and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. He gave her a small, but heartfelt smile.

"You know, this might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he said, wiggling his eyebrow.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Really?" Kate shot back sarcastically. "I don't know, I kinda liked that Hooch comparison."

"Oh, yeah. Who doesn't like to be told they look like a dog?"

"Please, you were just asking for it. Besides, I think Hooch was pretty cool."

"He was. _For a dog,_" Richard said emphatically, faking hurt as he stepped away.

A giggle escaped the detective before she could help herself - it was always better than the moan she had repressed when he had broken all contact between them. Castle looked at her with interest; he tilted his head, parted his lips… And changed his mind.

"Too easy," he grinned (his actual reason had more to do with his fear that if he teased her, she would never giggle again in front of him. The sound was much too pleasing for him to run such a risk).

He extended a hand to her, his heart swelling with contentment when Kate took it without any further consideration; and they walked back to the door together, Rick stopping to grab her jacket from the couch.

"See, I'm letting you go and being all nice about it," he couldn't help saying, though he was well aware that it kind of defeated his purpose.

Beckett looked like she was thinking the same thing; yet she simply smiled, and said, "I'm impressed, Castle."

The writer couldn't tell if she was sincere or if she was just laughing at him. Maybe both. He held her jacket for her to slide into, and she turned back to face him, her green eyes sparkling.

Kate stood on tiptoe, putting a light hand on his shoulder, and she kissed him. He didn't need to be a Beckett-expert to read that particular kiss; it had one flagrance, one meaning written all over it. It was a promise.

_Soon_, it said.

Castle was more than okay with that.

He let go when she did, noticing with some satisfaction that she was twisting a lock of hair around her index and chewing on her bottom lip. Rick opened the door; Kate gave him one last, disarming smile, and she left.

Needless to say, it was some time before the author fell asleep.

* * *

><p><em>Chipper<em> did not even begin to describe Castle as he strode into the 12th precinct the next morning. It was a good thing there were lids on the cups of coffee he was carrying; without them, the bounce in his step would have sent burning liquid flying everywhere a long time ago.

The elevator was taken; he took the stairs. And he whistled for the whole time it took him to reach the homicide floor. There were a couple of people who gave him surprised, even disapproving glances, but he met them all with a wide grin. Most of them just looked like they thought he was crazy.

"Hello, hello, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," he greeted cheerfully as he neared Ryan and Esposito's desks.

The Hispanic detective raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Dude, it's not eight yet. It's too early to be deciphering whatever you just said."

"Besides," Kevin joined in, "I'm not sure how I feel about you calling us like the traitors in _Hamlet_, Castle. I think he's trying to insult us, bro," he said to his partner.

If Javier had learned one thing during his years as a cop, it was how to look threatening, and he presently directed all that knowledge at the writer.

"You trying to insult us, Castle?"

"No. Nope. Not at all. Wasn't my intention. I shall call you… Timon and Pumbaa. _They_'re not traitors."

Ryan sniffed at him, though the curve of his mouth seemed to indicate a smile wasn't far.

"And which one is Pumbaa, exactly?"

Rick looked from Kevin, with his blue eyes and his nice suit, to Esposito, who was looking more dangerous by the minute, and back.

"Ah," he said. "My bad. That comparison doesn't seem to be working out so well. You know, I'll just sit there in silence and write. Won't bother you again, I promise."

He flashed them a brilliant smile, and settled into Kate's chair, reaching for a sheet of paper. The two detectives exchanged perplexed glances. The author was normally a rather good-humoured fellow, no doubt – but this was not the norm. He looked so happy that it seemed nothing could get to him.

The duo shrugged, and with heavy sighs, turned back to their paperwork. Knowing Castle, they'd figure it out soon enough.

* * *

><p>Kate stepped out of Roy Montgomery's office wearing a small smile that would have been invisible to an untrained eye. She had asked the captain if, <em>hypothetically<em>, the precinct would tolerate a personal relationship between a cop and a civilian who worked as a consultant, providing that PDA were kept to a minimum and that it did not affect the investigations. Roy had looked at her with a warm, knowing smile, and had replied that no, _hypothetically_, he'd have nothing against such a thing.

Then he had said, his brown eyes softening, "I'm happy for you, Kate. About damn time, if you ask me."

She'd blushed, tried to hide her own smile, and answered with a formal, "Thank you, sir."

Kate had made the decision to talk to Roy this morning, after a night of...interesting dreams involving Castle. No nightmares; not this time. Part of her had argued against this initiative, fought tooth and nail, arguing that it was much too early, that she should wait and see what happened before taking any step of this kind. But the other part (the one that told Rick things like "I love you" and smiled dreamily whenever she thought of Whitesboro) had held on, firm and unmovable. They were doing this. And she was going to make sure they did it right, period.

So here she was now, her heart beating a little faster than normal, left to wonder how exactly she was going to handle this. Her eyes landed on the large shoulders of her unofficial partner; he must have gotten here when she was talking to Roy. It was early for him to be in at all; it was only a little after eight. Kate leaned against the wall for a moment, watching him from afar, amused at how oblivious he could be.

He had set two – extra-large, she noticed – cups of coffee on her desk, and was sitting in her chair, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Ryan and Esposito, obviously intrigued, were looking at him surreptitiously while filling the paperwork for their closed case. Whatever Rick was writing, it got him so excited that he accidentally dropped his pen (from where Beckett was standing, it looked like the thing had jumped out of his hand) and banged his knee against the desk in the process of retrieving it. He let out a light yelp, paused to look at the damage, and went back to his writing. The two remaining members of the team were smirking openly by then, and yet Rick didn't seem to notice.

He made one last flourish with his pen, then put it aside and reached for his coffee. Kate would have issued a warning, had she been closer; as it was, what she had expected happened: Castle burned his tongue and hissed in pain.

That drew a snigger from Esposito and a not-so-well-hidden smile from Ryan, and Kate decided that it was time to turn the tables on them. The bullpen was quiet, like most mornings; everyone was still in the stage of waking up, and minding their own business. If things had been different, she would probably not have dared to do what she did next.

The dark-haired detective walked up to her desk, waved at the guys and stopped beside Castle, who still had a hand over his mouth – on any other day, she would probably have commented on his futile attempt to ease the burn away.

"Burned your tongue again, Castle?"

He nodded (she didn't miss the spark that lit up his eyes the moment he saw her), and she leaned in, gently pushing his hand away. He let her, even though he gave her a perplexed look.

"Let me see."

His lips parted in bewilderment. Kate didn't let herself hesitate; she closed the rest of the distance and kissed him, quick but thorough, relishing the taste of coffee that lingered in his mouth. Then she drew back, absorbing with satisfaction the dazed expression on Rick's face, and said, "Feeling better?"

He nodded again, this time much more enthusiastically, and she grinned a little. From the corner of her eye, she could see her fellow detectives' jaws hanging open.

"Now get out of my chair."

Never before had Castle been so quick to obey an order. Beckett snatched up her coffee and settled in her seat, enjoying the view. Esposito was giving hearty slaps to Ryan's back; the Irish detective, for an unknown reason, had choked on his own drink.

"You okay over there, Ryan?" the lead detective asked, in a not-so-concerned tone.

Jenny's fiancé attempted to nod, and raised a hand to signal that she didn't need to worry. Esposito narrowed his eyes at her, and she met his gaze squarely, daring him to say a word. He looked away first, but not before the corners of her mouth had twitched upwards suspiciously.

Her writer, she found when she turned his way, was staring at her adoringly; hell, he made it impossible for Kate to hold back her smile any longer. She stored the moment away for further enjoyment, before glancing back at her computer.

"Back to work, guys."

The phone chose this exact moment to ring, and the detective picked it up, well aware that three sets of eyes had fixated on her.

"Beckett," she said.

There had been a murder at the corner of Lex and the East 60th Street; Kate grabbed a post-it, wrote down the exact address, and thanked the uniform at the other hand of the line.

"Body," she said simply, turning to find that Castle had already put on his jacket and was now extending hers for her to slide into. Well, someone was eager today. She accepted his silent offer, a small part of her aware that they were repeating their moves from the night before, and looked at Ryan and Esposito, who were watching expectantly.

"Think you two can postpone the paperwork and come along?"

"I don't know," Esposito said, his face grave. "Paperwork is a very serious business –"

"Dude," Ryan cut off reprovingly, elbowing him and jumping to his feet. "Yep," he told Beckett with a half-smile. "Paperwork can wait."

"Good," she replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Knowing they would catch up, she started towards the elevator, Castle in her tow.

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><p><em>AN: In spite of my saying this was the last chapter, it turns out one last, short scene was required to make it complete. As I couldn't post it along with the rest, you will find it as the last, thirteenth chapter. So do read on, please, and thank you so much for following this story to the end._


	13. Extra Ending: Lucky Guy

**A/N: **After I posted the last chapter on Monday, pat19btvs got back to me with an idea for that last scene in the elevator. That idea was so good, in my opinion, that it was really nonsense to let it go to waste. So I wrote the scene. It's a continuation of the last moments of the story; an extra-ending of sorts, for all of you wonderful readers and reviewers :-). I hope it's not too confusing; I included a bit of dialogue that you've already read, for continuity's sake. I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading, for being a part of this story.

**Disclaimer: Castle still isn't mine. Darn.**

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><p>"You ready for this, Rick?" Kate asked, half-teasing, half-serious.<p>

"With you by my side? I'm ready for anything. Ah. That may have sounded cornier than it did in my head," he winced.

Beckett stepped into the elevator, and turned back to him. Their eyes met in one of those silent exchanges that Lanie called "eye-sex"; and Kate found herself smiling before she even realized it. Lost in the exchange somewhat, she also didn't realize she had been holding the button to keep the doors open for non-existent people who weren't following them on.

"As long as it's only this once, I might be able to let it go," she answered at length, letting go of the button.

"How very generous of you," he shot back without missing a beat.

"What can I say? I'm a very generous person."

He grinned at her, moving imperceptibly to get closer while the doors closed.

"Castle," she warned. Maybe they were alone in the elevator, but this was still the precinct. Her earlier stunt with Ryan and Esposito was not exactly representative of her comfort zone.

He settled at an almost acceptable distance, but after a second she felt his hand tugging at hers. Shaking her head, Kate let him grab and hold her pinky for a moment, before quickly pulling away when his phone began to ring.

She didn't need to look at Castle to know he was grinning as he went to answer it.

Maybe she was grinning a little, too.

It was a ringtone Kate wasn't familiar with, she noted distractedly. Castle picked up, saying "Hello?" in his usual, cheerful way; but then he replied to whoever it was, in a more subdued voice, "Oh, hi."

Beckett immediately picked up on his sounding... intimidated – yes, that was the word – and it piqued her curiosity, making her lean in and try to get an idea of who was on the other end of the line. But the writer was no fool; he could see through her tricks, and with a small, annoying smile, he waved his finger 'no' at her, retreating to the back of the car as the doors closed.

"Uh-uh," he said to his mysterious caller, and Kate narrowed her eyes at him, because it was obvious that he was just trying to piss her off by not telling her. "No, no, you're not disturbing me at all," Rick added, and in a swifter move than his partner expected of him, he caught Kate's wrist, stopping the hand that was going for his ear.

"Apples," he mouthed at her, his blue eyes holding a strange concoction of pleading and amusement.

"You can't say apples if I'm not touching you," Beckett replied stubbornly, and she tried the other side, sliding her graceful form between the author and the wall.

"I can say apples if I know you're trying to hurt me," he hissed, and then said on the phone, "No, no, she's fine. A bit busy at the moment."

Castle glanced at her for the briefest of seconds, and Kate was perplexed. Was he talking about her? But then, who the hell was it? She knew the ringtones associated to Martha, Alexis, even Gina - it wasn't any of those.

"My ears are off limits," he murmured to her, his hand letting go of her wrist to cover the receiver. The detective glared at him; but after a moment a sly smile stretched her lips. His ears were off limits? Then the rest of him was fair game, she supposed.

She was already standing pretty close to him; it didn't take much effort at all to infiltrate a nimble hand under his jacket, under his shirt… Castle jumped, stopped in the middle of a sentence, and gave her a look that was half-reproving, half-turned on.

"Your hand is cold," he whispered with a pout, and it was all Kate could do not to laugh. That was his objection? Her hand was cold? "I'm sorry," he told the person on the end of the line, and Beckett drew closer, pinning him to a corner of the elevator. "I, uh, might have to call you back," Rick added hurriedly as his partner pressed herself against him in a way that left him with absolutely no ability to focus. "Yes, that's right," he added, biting back a growl when Kate trailed her mouth along his neck (unlike the hand, it was hot. And moist, too). She inched even closer and delicately pulled his earlobe in between her teeth.

Oh, God. "Yeah, I'll call back later. Goodbye," the writer managed to get out in a surprisingly steady voice, and he hung up with a sigh that was part relief, part delight.

"Who was it?" Beckett whispered in his ear, her voice throaty with hints of threat, all kinds of irresistible.

"Ah, that was, uh, it was…" Jeez, her breathing on his neck made it impossible to get a complete sentence out. Well, it made it impossible to even form a sentence in his head.

Kate must have realized it, because she pulled back a little, her eyebrows up. "Castle?"

Yep, her tone was threatening alright. But her face was also beautifully flushed, her eyes bright even in the poor lighting of the elevator, and boy, he had the hardest time remembering he was not supposed to lunge at her, because it was the precinct and she had this stupid rule about PDAs… In an attempt to distract himself, Rick looked away; his eyes fell on the floor buttons.

"Kate, did you…?"

It was good thinking, but it came too late; the doors opened again in a smooth glide. Onto the Homicide floor. Neither of them had thought to push the button.

Beckett heard the sound, realized what it meant in a split second, and yanked herself from the writer. She made a spin turn, found half the Homicide department staring at her, and wordlessly hit the damn button. Never before had the elevator doors seemed to take such a long time to drift shut.

She didn't turn. She didn't look at him. This had to be the most humiliating moment of her life. Worse than that time in eleventh grade when she and Maddy had been supposed to play a scene between Desdemona and Emilia, and she had been utterly unable to remember a single line. Well, maybe not worse. But close.

After a couple seconds, Rick said – and, _damn him_, she could hear the smile in his voice – "Your grandmother says hi."

What the –

Kate turned to him, excruciatingly slow. He had some difficulty keeping his smirk on after that, and she watched him swallow nervously. _As well he should_, some fierce, dangerous part of her thought with satisfaction.

"Guess whose funeral we're going to next?" she asked, her voice unbelievably sweet and in direct contradiction with her words.

"Shotgun!" Castle called before he had even realized what she meant.

Beckett deliberately let a smile blossom on her lips. "Oh, you'll already have the back all to yourself."

Understanding finally sunk into him, and the writer frowned. Except Kate could see the little light at the back of his eyes that spoke of how much he really enjoyed her comebacks.

They got to the garage at last, and the detective walked out saying, "In about fifty or sixty years. If you're lucky."

Rick caught up with her, as always, and he favored her with his most beautiful smile.

"Already am," he said.

She was on the verge of commenting on his sappiness when something – the sincerity in the blue orbs staring at her, perhaps, or the childish joy he radiated at the moment – stopped her in her tracks. Instead, Kate turned her face fully to him and gave him the cute half-smile that she knew he loved.

"Yeah?" she answered lightly. "Guess that makes two of us."


End file.
